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INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE 
OF ETHICS 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO - DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE 
OF ETHICS 



BY 



THEODORE DE LAGUNA 

PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN BRYN MAWR 
COLLEGE 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1914 

All rights reserved 






COPYRIGHT, 1914, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published December, 1914. 



NottoootJ ^resss 

J. S. Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



DEC I7J9I4 

©CU388848 



PREFACE 

The title of this book is intended to be fairly descriptive of 
it. It treats of ethics as a science, which if not wholly inde- 
pendent of metaphysical considerations — and of no science 
can that be said — is sufficiently independent to permit of 
separate positive treatment. And under the broad license 
of an ' introduction ' it presents not only an outline of the 
science as we find it to-day, but some account of the past 
which has made it what it is. 

Part I contains brief chapters upon the scope and methods 
of the science and upon one metaphysical topic (the freedom 
of the will) which cannot well be passed over in silence. But 
it is mainly given up to a discussion of the subjects of moral 
judgments and a survey of the various kinds of standards 
according to which, under the conditions of savage or of civil- 
ized life, moral judgments are made. It is thus intended to 
present a broad background of facts against which the ex- 
planatory theories, old and new, may be the better appreciated. 

Part II is a review of the principal Greek and English 
ethical theories. In an introductory note I have given my 
reasons for including this review. It does not purport to be 
a history of ethics, even for the periods which it covers. By 
neglecting much that is important to the historian, I have 
gained space for a fuller and, I trust, more interesting and 
instructive treatment of the men and movements that are 
included. In connection with Part II a selection from the 
ethical classics should certainly be read; and this, however 
meager, should not fail to comprise Books I, II, and X of the 
Nicomachean Ethics. 

Especially in the case of the Greek ethicists, I have not 
always found it possible to separate the moral theories entirely 
from their metaphysical basis ; indeed, to have done so would 



vi PREFACE 

in some cases have amounted to a falsification. But I have at 
least relegated the metaphysics to a strictly subordinate place. 

In Part III a positive treatment of moral problems is pre- 
sented in connection with the elements of the general theory 
of values. So far as I know, this is the first attempt at an 
elementary presentation of any of the newer phases of the 
latter subject. Not that the theory of values as such is new. 
It is as old as ethics itself. But in recent years it has under- 
gone a great development, and one of unusual interest — a 
development, however, which has remained buried in mono- 
graphs and treatises that are wholly inaccessible to the under- 
graduate student as well as to the educated public generally. 

It should be observed that Part III is intelligible — I would 
not say equally intelligible — without the previous reading of 
Part II, which may therefore be omitted if time requires or 
the instructor so prefers. Parts I and III will then serve 
as an < Elements of Ethics.' I hope, however, that this ex- 
treme course may not often be taken. It may, however, often 
be necessary to omit some passages of Part II ; and it is not 
so closely written but that omissions can easily be made. I 
would suggest that Chapter X and the account of the stimuli 
of the moral sense in Chapter XI, while dealing of matters 
of great importance in themselves, may be most easily spared 
by the beginner. 

I should not know how to record the debts which I have 
incurred in writing this book; and I shall not attempt it. 
The great debts, of which I remain ever conscious, are, natu- 
rally enough, to my own teachers of ethics, Professor Howison 
of California and Professor McGilvary of Cornell and Wis- 
consin; but such debts are more easily felt than set forth. 
I should, however, mention that in the writing of Chapter XI 
I received several suggestions from Dr. Edna Shearer (a pupil 
of the late David Irons), whose unpublished dissertation on 
Hume's ethics was completed under my supervision. 

Cambridge, England, 

November 14, 1914. 



CONTENTS 
PAKT I. THE FIELD OF ETHICS 

OHAPTHB PAGE 

I. Scope and Relations of the Science of Ethics . 3 
L The Problems op Ethics, 3. 
II. The Relations of Ethics, 8. 
III. Ethics as a Theoretical Science and as the 
Philosophy of Practice, 11. 

II. The Methods of Ethics 13 

III. The Field of Moral Judgments .... 23 
I. Character and Conduct, 23. 
II. The Moral Agent, 26. 

III. Extent of Moral Conduct, 29. 

IV. Content op the Moral Act, 31. 1. The Prob- 

lem, 31. 2. Status of Unforeseen Conse- 
quences, 33. 3. Motive vs. Intention, 39. 
Appendix : The Intention to Do Right, 42. 

IY. Responsibility and Freedom 50 

I. Responsibility, 50. 

II. The Relation between Freedom and Re- 
sponsibility, 51. 

III. Further Arguments for Indeterminism, 56. 

IV. Further Arguments for Determinism, 58. 

V. Physical and Quasi-physical Determinism, 63. 
V. General Survey of Moral Standards ... 66 
I a. The Standards of Duty, 67. 1. Instinctive and 
Customarg Standards, 67. 2. Personal Au- 
thority, 73. 3. The Authority of Law, 77. 



viii CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAG1 

I b. The Standards of Benevolence, 80. 1. Ideality 
of Benevolence and Virtue, 80. 2. Benevo- 
lence in General, 82. 3. The Objects of 
Benevolence, 83. (1) Benevolence to Indi- 
viduals, 83. (2) Devotion to an Institution, 
85. (3) Devotion to a Cause, 86. (4) Devo- 
tion to a Representative, 87. 
II. The Standards of Virtue, 88. 1. The Kinds of 
Virtue, 88. (1) Courage, 89. (2) Temper- 
ance, 91. (3) Wisdom, 93. 2. Virtue without 
Effort, 96. 3. The Imitation of the Ideal, 97. 

PART II. THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS 

Introductory Note 101 

VI. The Beginnings of Ethics 105 

I. The Sophists, 105. 

II. Socrates, 112. 1. Fundamental Assumptions, 
113. 2. Theory of Virtue, 115. 

VII. Hedonism 123 

I. Aristippus, 124. 
II. Other Hedonists, 126. 

Vin. Energism 131 

I. General Features of Ancient Energism, 131. 

II. Plato, 133. 1. The Virtues in General, 135. 

2. Wisdom, 138. 3. Pleasure, 142. 

III. Aristotle, 144. 1. Metaphysical Basis, 145. 

2. Happiness, 147. 3. Virtue, 149. 4. The 
Supremacy of Pure Beason, 153. 

IV. Concluding Comments, 154. 

IX. Rigorism 158 

I. The Cynics, 158. 
II. The Stoics, 163. 1. The Background, 163. 

2. The Belation of Morality to Instinct, 164. 

3. The Stoic Paradoxes, 167. 4- The Virtu- 
ous Life, 169. 



CONTENTS ix 

CHAPTEB PAGK 

X. The Beginnings of Modern Ethics .... 175 
I. The Point of Departure, 175. 
II. Hobbes, 177. 1. Fundamental Principles, 177. 
2. The State of Nature, 182. 3. The Con- 
ditions of Peace, 185. 4- The Function of 
the State, 187. 

III. CUDWORTH, 189. 

IV. Cumberland, 190. 

XI. The Classical Schools op the Eighteenth Cen- 
tury 198 

I. Preliminary Kemarks, 198. 
II. Intuitionalism, 200. 1. The Mathematical An- 
alogy, 200. 2. Obligation — Beward and 
Punishment, 203. 3. The Universality of 
Moral Laws, 206. 

III. Sentimentalism, 207. 1. Empirical Standpoint, 

207. 2. The Analogy of Beauty, 208. 3. Ob- 
ligation, 215. 4. The Stimuli, 217. 

IV. Utilitarianism, 223. 1. The Utilitarian Pro- 

gram, 223. 2. Obligation, 226. 3. Appro- 
bation and Disapprobation, 230. 
V. Concluding Remarks, 232. 
XII. The Nineteenth Century and German Influence 235 
I. The New Utilitarianism, 235. 
II. Kant, 238. 

III. Fichte, 242. 

IV. Hegel, 243. 

V. The English Controversies, 245. 

XILL The Hedonistic Controversy 247 

I. The Kinds op Hedonism, 247. 
II. The Selfish Theory, 252. 

III. The Theory of Original Selfishness, 259. 

IV. The Hedonistic Theory of Values in Gen- 

eral, 261. 
V. Ethtcal Hedonism, 271. 



f CONTENTS 

PART III. THE EVOLUTIONARY THEORY 
OF MORAL VALUES 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XIV. The Significance of Morality for Society . 281 
I. Introduction, 281. 
II. Morality and Social Welfare, 282. 

III. Social Intercourse, 286. 

IV. The Relation of Morality to Social In- 

tercourse, 292. 
XV. Character, Sentiment, and Value . . . 296 
I. Morality and Individual Welfare, 296. 
II. Character, 298. 

III. The Sentiments, 304. 

IV. Valuation, 311. 

V. The Value of a Sum of Things, 315. 
VI. Virtue and Happiness, 318. 1. Indirect 
Value of Morality, 318. 2. Direct Value 
of Morality, 320. 
XVI. The Social Character of Sentiments, and the 

Objectivity of Values . . . 324 
I. Introduction, 324. 
II. The Excitation of Sympathy, 325. 

III. Admiration and Contempt. Pride and 

Shame, 329. 

IV. The Education of the Sentiments, 330. 
V. The Objectivity of Values, 335. 

VI. The Function of the Elite, 340. 
VII. Absolute Values, 347. 
VIII. Historical Continuity, 350. 
IX. Individual Differences, 354. 
X. Values Peculiar to Minor Social Groups, 
358. 
XVII. The Significance of Darwinism .... 360 
I. Evolution in General, 360. 
II. Darwinism, 363. 



CONTENTS xi 

CHAPTER PAOK 

III. Application of Darwinism to Ethics, 367. 

IV. Congenital Basis of Morality, 372. 
V. The Analogy of Language, 376. 

XVIII. The Evolution of Moral Standards . . . 379 
I. Conditions of Moral Evolution, 379. 
II. The Problem, 381. 

III. The Modification of Standards of Value, 

382. 

IV. Conventionality in Moral Standards, 388. 
V. Doubt and Eeflection, 391. 

VI. The Eise of Discontent, 394. 
VII. Duty and Benevolence in Evolution, 398. 
VIII. The Progress of Benevolence, 401. 
LX. The Relation of Virtue to Duty and 
Benevolence, 404. 

Conclusion 407 

Index 413 



GENERAL REFERENCES 

ELEMENTARY WORKS . 

Mackenzie, J. S., Manual of Ethics. 

Muirhead, J. H., Elements of Ethics. 

Seth, J., A Study of Ethical Principles. 

Thilly, E., Introduction to Ethics. 

Eite, W., An Introductory Study of Morals. 

Mezes, S. E., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory. 

Bowne, B. P., The Principles of Ethics. 

Perry, R. B., The Moral Economy. 

Dewey and Tufts, Ethics. 

Palmer, G. H., The Field of Ethics, and The Nature of 

Goodness. 
Paulsen, F., System of Ethics. 
Royce, J., The Philosophy of Loyalty. 
Rashdall, H., Ethics. 
Sorley, W. R., The Moral Life. 
Moore, G. E., Ethics. 

TREATISES : 

Wundt, W., Ethics. 

Stephen, L., Science of Ethics. 

Janet, P., The Theory of Morals. 

Ladd, G., The Philosophy of Conduct. 

Moore, G. E., Principia Ethica. 

Taylor, A. E., The Problem of Conduct. 

Rashdall, H., The Theory of Good and Evil. 

Hobhouse, L. T., Morals in Evolution. 

Westermarck, E., The Origin and Development of the 

Moral Ideas. 
Read, C, Natural and Social Morals. 
Wallace, W., Lectures and Essays on Natural Theology 

and Ethics. 



PART I 

THE FIELD OF ETHICS 



CHAPTER I 

SCOPE AND RELATIONS OF THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

I. The Problems of Ethics 

Double Origin of the Science. — The science of ethics has 
grown principally out of the attempts to solve two sets of 
problems, which at first sight may not appear to be closely 
connected with each other. On the one hand it has been 
asked : What is happiness ? What would be the highest or 
most complete happiness? What can a man do toward secur- 
ing happiness for himself or for others ? On the other hand 
the inquiry has been raised : What is the meaning of ' right ' 
and ' wrong,' l good ' and ' bad,' as applied to men's conduct 
and character? How do we make these distinctions and 
what validity do they possess? But however different their 
starting-points, the two inquiries are apt to run together 
very speedily. The study of the conditions of happiness 
usually reveals the fact that virtue, or good character — 
the sort of character that shows itself in right conduct — 
is by far the most important condition. Some moralists 
have even identified virtue and happiness. And the study 
of moral distinctions has either led to the conclusion that 
their meaning is somehow bound up with the happy or un- 
happy consequences of conduct ; or, at least, the study has 
involved some consideration of reward and punishment, 
and thus the problem of the relation between virtue and hap- 
piness has come into view. 

Preliminary Definition. — Ethics thus constitutes a unified 
body of doctrine, which may be defined as the science of 

3 



4 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

morality, or the science of moral distinctions. 1 Such a defi- 
nition will not apply perfectly to every system that has 
passed under the name of ' ethics ' ; but that is not to be 
expected. One can never give a logically perfect definition 
of an historical growth. One cannot, for example, define 
socialism or Christianity in such a way as to include all who 
have ever been regarded as socialists or as Christians, 
without making the terms so broad that scarcely any one 
would be excluded. Now it is one of the best approved 
maxims of science, that one should be content with the degree 
of exactness which the given subject-matter admits of. To 
strain beyond this is to make oneself liable to serious error. 
The definitions which we give here must be taken simply as 
preliminary indications, which may give the student a fair 
idea of what to expect, and may help him to thread his way 
through the discussions that are to follow. 

Ambiguity of Terms. — If the attempt is made to amplify 
the definition of ethics by explaining the terms ' moral ' 
and ' morality/ a curious difficulty arises. Almost all 
the familiar expressions that might be used for such an ex- 
planation are found to be fatally ambiguous. For instance, 
let us consider the adjectives ' good ' and ' bad.' These 
are used to denote, not simply moral qualities, but any sort 
of worth or unworth whatsoever. Dogs and horses, houses 
and lands, groceries, pictures, scientific theories — anything 
that is capable of attracting human interest — may be good 
or bad. Men themselves may be thus described in more 
senses than one. " Antonio is a good man," may be a 
testimony to his virtue or an acknowledgment of his mer- 

1 The term ' ethics ' is derived from the Greek -nOiicd (moral), from Ijdos 
(character), which Aristotle rightly surmised to be connected with e0os 
(custom) . This connection seemed to him to be important, because he be- 
lieved that the process of character-forming is essentially one of habituation. 
The term ' moral ' is similarly derived from moralia (the Latin technical 
equivalent for ydiKd), formed by analogy from mos (custom, manners). 
Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, II, 1 ; cf. Wundt, Ethics, vol. I, pp. 24-26. 



THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 5 

cantile standing. Only the context can determine. So also 
with the other pair of adjectives, ' right ' and ' wrong/ 
Anything that conforms, or fails to conform, to a standard of 
sufficiency or correctness is right or wrong accordingly. 
Conformity to moral standards is only one sort of Tightness. 
To denote it plainly it must be set down as ' morally right.' 
Similarly of ' merit/ ' responsibility/ ' obligation.' They 
may be as wide or as narrow as you please. ' Ought/ 
like ' right ' and ' wrong/ refers to conformity to a given 
standard. Everything ought to be right. ' Virtue ' itself, 
though usually restricted to moral goodness, is sometimes 
applied to the valuable properties of inanimate substances. 
It must not be supposed that this ambiguity is due to any 
peculiar poverty of the English language. Other languages 
show a similar condition. Our language has, indeed, two 
important common terms that are regularly used in an ethical 
significance, — ' conscience ' and ' duty.' But one hears 
too of an ' aesthetic conscience.' And the word ■ duties ' 
is often used to denote merely what a man is employed 
to perform — a sense far too narrow for ethical purposes. 
Consequently, if the student does not already know pretty 
well what ' morality ' means, no definition that we can give 
is likely to be of much use to him. The only ready device 
that could be used to cure his ignorance would be a list 
of typical actions and traits of character to which moral 
predicates are applied. 

Two Kinds of Moral Valuation. — The fact that our 
language, like many others, has two common pairs of terms 
by which to denote moral distinctions is significant. It 
points to two markedly different attitudes toward the moral 
problems of daily life, from which important differences in 
ethical theory have arisen. ' Good ' and ■ bad ' are names 
for positive and negative values, which are attributed both 
to conduct and to character. Various grades of ' better ' 
and ' worse ' are recognized, with the zero-point of the 



6 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

1 indifferent ' somewhere between. ' Right ' and c wrong ' 
also express a kind of valuation; but they are directly 
applicable only to conduct, and only indirectly to the author 
of the conduct. ' Right ' denotes agreement with a certain 
standard, and hence it is not properly susceptible of degrees. 
Furthermore, there is no zero-point : an act is either right or 
not right, and if not right it is wrong. There may be degrees 
of wrongness, but only in the sense of amount of departure 
from the standard of Tightness. 

Examples. — There is perhaps no way in which the student 
can better be introduced to the study of ethics than by setting 
before him examples of these two types of moral valuation — 
the personal and the impersonal, as we may call them. The 
examples which we shall use for this purpose would have 
been so familiar to the reader of a generation or two ago, 
that the barest reference would have been sufficient. One 
may wish that this were the case to-day. The first, illus- 
trating the personal type of valuation, consists of the con- 
cluding words of a speech of a rude shepherd, whose younger 
brother — whom he has promised his aged father to protect — 
has been convicted of a serious theft and condemned to 
slavery : 

" Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, 
and the lad is not with us ; seeing that his life is bound up 
with the lad's life ; it will come to pass, when he seeth that 
the lad is not with us, that he will die : and thy servants 
will bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with 
sorrow to Sheol. For thy servant became surety for the lad 
unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then 
shall I bear the blame to my father for ever. Now therefore, 
let thy servant, I pray thee, abide instead of the lad a bond- 
man to my lord ; and let the lad go up with his brethren. 
For how shall I go up to my father, if the lad is not with 
me? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father." 1 

1 Genesis xliv. 30-34 ; American Standard Version. 



THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 7 

The second example exhibits a contrast to the first, which 
is all the more striking because it too involves the fulfillment 
of a promise ; not, however, to a man, but to a tribal God. 
A chieftain, going out to battle, has vowed that if he returns 
victorious he will offer up as a burnt sacrifice whatever first 
comes out of his house to meet him ; and his daughter, an 
only child, is the first to appear : 

" And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his 
clothes, and said, Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought me 
very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me ; for I 
have opened my mouth unto Jehovah, and I cannot go back. 
And she said unto him, My father, thou hast opened thy 
mouth unto Jehovah ; do unto me that which hath proceeded 
out of thy mouth, forasmuch as Jehovah hath taken ven- 
geance for thee on thine enemies, even on the children of 
Ammon." * 

These examples might be paralleled without end ; but we 
shall limit ourselves to a third example, in which the personal 
and impersonal types of moral valuation are seen in conflict. 
A religious teacher and certain of his followers are walking 
through the grainfields on the sabbath day; and the latter 
have plucked some of the ears, thus technically breaking an 
ancient and venerated law, and arousing the criticism of 
punctilious lovers of the law : 

" And he said unto them, Did ye never read what David 
did, when he had need, and was hungry, he, and they that 
were with him? How he entered into the house of God 
when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the show-bread, 
which it is not lawful to eat save for the priests, and gave 
also to them that were with him? " 

And the whole issue is immediately summed up in the sen- 
tence that has passed into a proverb : " The sabbath was 
made for man, and not man for the sabbath." 2 

1 Judges xi. 35-36. 2 Mark ii. 23 ff. 



8 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

II. The Relations of Ethics 

With Politics. — Ethics stands in very close relations with 
several other sciences. In the first place, it is intimately 
connected with political theory. (1) When ethics is regarded 
as primarily the theory of happiness, the investigator soon 
discovers that political conditions have much to do in deter- 
mining the happiness or unhappiness of whole peoples. To 
distinguish between the two sciences, ethics may be regarded 
as treating of the conditions of happiness so far as these are 
under the control of the individual ; while to politics is left 
the problem of determining how the general happiness may 
be determined by wise government. Sometimes, indeed, the 
two sciences are regarded as essentially one. Politics may 
be treated as a department of ethics ; or ethics may be treated 
(as by Aristotle) as an introduction to politics. (2) When 
ethics is viewed as treating primarily of the moral distinc- 
tions, the connection with politics is equally close. For one 
of the most important functions of the state is the establish- 
ment of justice within its borders, that is to say, the enforce- 
ment of certain moral standards. And when it appears that 
the state is not adequately fulfilling this function, but that 
its laws are at various points in conflict with the ideal stand- 
ards of justice, an ethical question arises, whether the duty 
of the individual citizen is not to obey the laws of the land, 
imperfect as they may be, while, if possible, laboring for their 
amendment. Besides, in the dealings of states with each 
other, many questions as to rights and duties arise, which 
a comprehensive treatment of moral distinctions cannot 
wholly ignore. 

With Esthetics and Economics. — In the second place, 
ethics is related to aesthetics and economics. These also 
treat of values ; the one of beauty and such allied values as 
the sublime, the tragic, and the comic ; the other of exchange- 
values. Some thinkers have pushed the connection between 



THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 9 

ethics and aesthetics so close, that moral goodness has been 
regarded as a mere species of beauty, correlative with the 
beauty of sounds and shapes and colors. Certain it is that 
moral goodness often strikes us as beautiful or sublime, and 
that vicious suggestions may be a serious blemish upon an 
otherwise beautiful work of art. However, many ethicists 
have regarded moral goodness as so widely different from all 
other values, that the analogy with beauty has been lightly 
esteemed or altogether denied. It may be added that some 
writers, to whom the conception of conformity to a fixed 
type has seemed all-important, have found a relationship 
between ethics and formal logic. For formal logic, too, deals 
with fixed standards. The canons of correct reasoning must 
be observed, or the demonstration is fallacious; and there 
is no middle ground between validity and invalidity. Here 
also the analogy has sometimes been pushed to extremes, 
and morality has been regarded as a species of truth. The 
connection of ethics with economics is seemingly not so close 
as with aesthetics, though many similar phenomena are to be 
observed in the two fields. Just, for example, as the in- 
creased scarcity of a needed article brings about a rise in its 
price, so the estimation in which a virtue is popularly held 
is affected by its rarity. Among a licentious people the 
chaste man is a saint. Among the deceitful Greeks the hero 
Achilles was admired for nothing more than for his absolute 
lack of guile. 

With the Theory of Values. — Ethics, aesthetics, and eco- 
nomics may all be regarded as subordinate to a general science 
of values. Only in recent years has such a separate science 
been organized under the name of ' axiology/ or the ' theory 
of values.' But from the earliest times discussions of this 
nature have formed a part of the foundations of ethics. 
" What is good? " was one of the first questions to be asked 
when scientific attention began to turn to the problems of 
human life. The specifically ethical question, " What is 



10 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

happiness ? " — that is to say : What is the sort of experience 
which is good in itself, and not simply as a necessary condi- 
tion for some other experience ? — only gradually distin- 
guished itself from this more general inquiry. 

With Sociology. — Since the origin (in the nineteenth 
century) of a distinct science of social institutions, called 
■ sociology/ its contact with ethics has been unbroken. 1 Moral 
sentiments are recognized as one of the great forces by which 
the customs and forms of organization of societies are shaped. 
Contrariwise, the customs and organizations are almost 
universally believed to be an essential factor in the main- 
tenance and development of moral sentiments. Religious, 
political, commercial institutions all have their influence upon 
the moral life; none more than that oldest of institutions, 
which under various transformations has come down to us 
from the very beginnings of civilization, and has its roots 
in the instinctive traits of our prehuman ancestors, — the 
family. Consequently the study of social institutions, while 
it cannot for the purposes of ethics take the place of the study 
of the moral consciousness itself, is capable of illustrating 
it most admirably, and of casting light upon many of its most 
obscure problems. 

With Psychology. — In common with all the other mental 
sciences, ethics is dependent upon the general science of 
mind, psychology. But the precise nature of this dependency 
is one of the most hotly debated questions of the present day. 
At one extreme are those who regard ethics as a branch of 
psychology, and particularly of social psychology. At the 
other extreme are those who declare that psychology is 
utterly incompetent to decide a single ethical question. The 
controversy is complicated by the fact that there exist two 
distinct types of psychological theory, the structural and the 

1 It should be observed that the sense in which this word is used still 
fluctuates widely. As we use it here it does not include social psychology, 
the importance of which for ethics is doubtless even greater. 



THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 11 

functional; and the relation of ethics to each of these is 
matter for controversy. Meanwhile all are agreed that the 
ethicist must make constant use of psychological data and 
methods ; and this is, after all, the most important point for 
us to note. When, as is often the case, the study of ethics 
is begun without a previous grounding in the elements of 
psychology, some attempt must be made to remedy the de- 
ficiency as occasion arises. 

The ' is ' versus the ' ought to be.' — There is one phase of 
this controversy which we cannot pass over without notice. 
Psychology, it is said, treats simply of what is, and has no con- 
cern with what ought to be, and hence the distinctions be- 
tween good and bad, right and wrong, do not fall within its 
province ; while ethics is precisely the science of what ought 
to be, regardless of what is. Such a statement is open to 
criticism. For a peculiar form of ethical theory is suggested 
which in our day has few defenders. All admit, to be sure, 
that the mere fact that a condition of affairs exists, or that an 
act is commonly performed, does not prove it to be right. 
But that the standards of right and wrong are absolutely 
independent of circumstances of every sort — that under all 
possible conditions, in all ages and climes and in all stages of 
social development, the same laws of righteousness hold sway 
— is not so clear ; and, if true, it is not to be lightly taken 
for granted. So weighty a doctrine ought not to be hidden 
away under cover of a verbal antithesis. 

III. Ethics as a Theoretical Science and as the 
Philosophy of Practice 

Theoretical and Practical Sciences. — Sciences are some- 
times classified as theoretical sciences and practical sciences 
(or arts). A theoretical science is the system of existing 
knowledge of a given subject-matter. The mathematical 
sciences, physics, chemistry, biology, and economics, are 



12 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

examples of such sciences. A practical science is a system- 
atic body of knowledge bearing upon the accomplishment of 
a given end. The sciences of medicine and pedagogy are 
obviously of this kind. 

Ethics belongs on both sides of the classification. It is a 
theoretical science having as its subject-matter the moral 
distinctions. But it is also a practical science, having as its 
object the assurance of happiness. 

Philosophy and the Special Sciences. — There is another 
familiar division of the sciences, into philosophy and the 
special sciences. The difference is here one of comprehen- 
siveness and generality. Here again ethics belongs on both 
sides. As the science of morality it is a special science, 
comprised, along with economics and aesthetics, under the 
general theory of values. But as a practical science it is not 
simply one among others. It is the art of life, having as 
its object the establishment of a universal policy. In this 
aspect, therefore, it is philosophical. 

In this introductory study, we shall consider ethics pri- 
marily as a special theoretical science, paying only secondary 
attention to its significance as the philosophy of practice. 

REFERENCES 

Hibben, J. G., The Problems of Philosophy, Ch. VIII. 

Palmer, G. H., The Field of Ethics (contains many further refer- 
ences). 

Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, Ch. XI. 

Sidgwick, H., History of Ethics, Ch. I., and Methods of Ethics, 
Book I, Chs. I, II. 

The opening chapters of the text-books of Mezes, Mackenzie, Muir- 
head, and Hyslop. 



CHAPTER II 

THE METHODS OF ETHICS 

Empiricism vs. Rationalism. — The methods which have 
been used in ethical speculation have been to a varying ex- 
tent affected by the views which philosophers have held with 
regard to the nature of scientific method generally. Of these 
views the two principal types are empiricism and rationalism. 
According to the former, all scientific truth is established 
by induction, that is to say, by deriving general rules from the 
comparison of particular instances, and by the gradual cor- 
rection of one's theories through noting and taking account 
of the exceptions to them. Some empiricists — notably 
Socrates and Francis Bacon — have believed that absolutely 
certain truth could be obtained by such means ; but for the 
most part it has been admitted that the best of theories 
is ever liable to correction in the light of some new observa- 
tion. According to the rationalistic view, the first principles 
of science are all self-evident. They are either definitions or 
intuitions of reason, and in either case need no support from 
particular instances. Other laws can be regarded as properly 
established, only when they have been deduced from these 
first principles. Particular facts may suggest or illustrate 
the truth, but no number or variety of them can prove it. 
Geometry has always been the model science of the rational- 
ist. Its axioms are his favorite examples of self-evident 
truths; and its consecutive demonstrations are to him the 
perfection of method. The geometrician uses particular 
figures in his work, but only for their suggestive value. 
He never imagines that by heaping up instances he can 

13 



14 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

strengthen the evidence in favor of any of his theorems. 
His proofs are strictly universal in their scope. 

Between the extreme views various compromises have 
been made. Very generally it has been held that science has 
two distinct stages, the inductive and the deductive, and 
that the former is an indispensable prelude to the latter. 
Thus Aristotle believed that the first principles of science 
must first be brought to our attention by the devious and 
uncertain process of induction, but that when found they are 
perfectly evident in their own right. Experience, for exam- 
ple, has led us to notice that the straight line is the shortest 
between any two points ; but once noticed it is in need of no 
experimental evidence. Many ancient and modern writers 
have adopted this view. It is a modification of Plato's, 
who believed that in order to pass from the imperfect truths 
of induction to the single supreme principle (for he thought 
that there was but one), no further induction, no further 
reference to particular instances, is necessary; but that by 
gradually removing the self-contradictions, which a rigorous 
analysis shows the inductive truths to contain, the perfect 
truth can ultimately be reached. This mode of procedure 
he called ? dialectic/ 

Ethics as an Empirical Science. — Ethics is the oldest 
science to which inductive methods have been consciously 
and deliberately applied. Inductive reasoning has, of course, 
been employed since men were men. But so far as we know, 
Socrates (who was one of the founders of moral science) 
was the first to employ it with a distinct conception of its 
nature; and ethics (including political theory) was almost 
the sole field in which he was interested. According to him 
the object of scientific inquiry was to frame clear and consist- 
ent definitions; for example, definitions of justice, courage, 
piety, and the like. Taking any proposed definition as a 
starting-point, his practice was to question the one who had 
offered it, with regard to border-line instances, which would 



THE METHODS OF ETHICS 15 

serve to show wherein the definition was too narrow or too 
broad — where it failed to include what the given term was 
obviously meant to cover, and where it actually included 
cases to which the term would never be applied. As each 
exception was pointed out, the interlocutor was invited to 
revise his definition accordingly, the hope being that a 
satisfactory form might thus ultimately be given to it. Or- 
dinarily, however, this was not accomplished, and the inter- 
locutor gave up the task in despair. The inquiry was then 
either dropped or continued in a deductive fashion — starting 
from commonly accepted premises which both parties were 
willing to admit as probably true, and leading up to the matter 
in hand. It is, however, to the first (inductive) part of the 
inquiry, with its generally negative conclusion, that the term 
f Socratic method ' is strictly applied ; and it is obviously 
to this method of procedure that he mainly trusted for the 
improvement of his own insight as well as for the real instruc- 
tion of his companions. 

It might be supposed, therefore, that ethics would be re- 
garded as the inductive science par excellence, and its later 
history throughout antiquity would tend to confirm this 
impression. Plato, indeed, looked forward to the construc- 
tion of a purely deductive ethics as one of the great desiderata 
of philosophy. But his own speculation in this field was 
mainly inductive ; and the literary expression of his results 
is in the form of Socratic dialogues. With his great pupil 
Aristotle, ethics is again confessedly an inductive science. 
" We must start," he says, " from the known. But this 
may mean either of two distinct things : ■ what is known to 
us ' [i.e. the data of experience], or, ' what is certain ' 
[i.e. the truths of intuition]. It is clear that it is for us to 
start from what is known to us." Accordingly Aristotle is 
careful to call attention to the merely approximate truth and 
the ' practical ' value of ethical principles. In fact, of all 
the ancient ethicists, the only ones to rely to any great 



16 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

extent upon mere deduction were the cynics and stoics; 
and, as we shall hereafter see, even in their case the most 
interesting part of the theory is largely inductive. 

Rationalistic Ethics. — In modern times, however, a very 
strong tendency has shown itself, to distrust and avoid the 
use of induction in ethics, as if it were somehow unworthy 
of the subject. Especially among ethicists who give promi- 
nence to the impersonal standards of duty, it has been felt 
that the validity of moral standards must be absolutely 
certain and unconditional ; and induction, it seemed, could 
never vindicate for them more than a merely relative force. 
So the attempt has repeatedly been made to give ethics a purely 
deductive form, and, especially, to find a body of self-evident 
truths from which the whole moral law could be clearly 
demonstrated. The intuitionalist, for example, looks upon 
the fundamental moral laws as so many axioms, precisely 
like the axioms of geometry, the absolute cogency of which 
cannot be doubted by any man who understands the terms 
in which they are expressed. Upon these axioms, a system 
of morals, like another geometry, must be built up ; and the 
conclusions that are reached may be applied in common life 
with the same assurance as a demonstrated theorem of Euclid. 
It has not been uncommon for philosophers who exhibited 
in the main an empiricistic tendency, to insist that ethics, 
like mathematics, is (or can be made) a purely deductive 
science. 1 

The Genetic Method. — Since the middle of the eight- 
eenth century a modification of the inductive method has 
been perfected, which during the last fifty years has become 

1 The so-called ' critical method ' of Kant is not a distinct method of the 
same order as induction and deduction. It consists (so far as ethics is con- 
cerned) in a deductive analysis of what is implied in the mere supposition that 
absolute moral laws exist. Kant tries to show that the whole system of ethics 
can be derived from this one supposition, which (as he further believes) no 
rational being can avoid making. A dialectic method, similar to that ad- 
vocated by Plato, has been attempted in modern times, notably by Hegel. 



THE METHODS OF ETHICS 17 

increasingly important for ethics. This is the genetic method 
of analysis. In general terms the method may be described 
as follows. The key to the structure and functions of any 
complex organic or social type is to be found in its past. 
What appears to be inextricably confused in the later form 
becomes simple and distinct in the earlier ; and by following 
the development step by step the later confusion can be re- 
duced to an orderly plan. The circumstances of each change, 
if these can be ascertained, are an indication of its meaning 
and importance. For every organism or organization stands 
in constant dependence upon its environment ; and its whole 
development is subject to the necessity of readjustment to 
meet altered conditions in the environment. 

Its Application to Ethics. — As applied to ethics, this 
means that the morality of the adult is to be explained by 
reference to the morality of the growing child; that the 
morality of civilized races is to be explained by reference to 
the customs and ideals of their ruder ancestors, as well as of 
other peoples by whom these were in any degree affected. 
Thus, if the problem were to explain the moral obligations of 
the modern European husband, most ethicists would not be 
content to ascribe them to the outcropping of an innate human 
sense for the requirements of the marriage relation. We 
should rather attempt to trace their development from the 
days when the wife was but a piece of property transferable 
at will — yes, further back, if it were possible, to the time 
when mutual affection and helpfulness and common attach- 
ment to the dependent offspring were the sole bonds between 
the ape-like human pair. Or, to take a narrower instance, 
if we were asked to account for the prohibition-sentiment 
in this country, we should not be apt to attribute it to the 
force of an innate human conviction that the use of intoxi- 
cating beverages is wrong. We should more probably at- 
tempt to trace its rise from the time when it was a mark of 
sobriety in a man to get drunk but half-a-dozen times a year, 



18 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

or even from the time when nightly drunkenness was looked 
forward to as one of the future rewards of the brave and just. 
The purpose in these inquiries would not be the learning of 
an interesting story. It would be the more thorough analysis 
and understanding of the present moral consciousness itself, — to 
perceive, for example, how much of it (if any) was instinc- 
tive, how much cultivated benevolence, how much respect for 
custom, how much prudential regard for economic conditions, 
how much religious feeling. For all these things and many 
more may be included in an apparently simple ' ought ' — 
or so the ethicists of to-day generally believe. 1 

Use of Ethnological Material. — The application of the 
genetic method to ethics would be a simpler matter, if our 
records of old moral standards and of the ways in which men 
viewed them were more complete. Not that we need a uni- 
versal history of mankind ; much less than that would make 
an ample basis for all our theorizing. But even in the case 
of the peoples of whom we know most, our information 
dwindles away rapidly as we go back of the period of the in- 
vention of writing. There are, to be sure, records of oral 

1 Attention must here be called to a serious and widespread error concern- 
ing the use of the genetic method. It is the supposition that by this method 
the developed form is explained in terms of its origin, in the sense of the 
original simple form from which it has sprung. Sometimes the assertion is 
even made, that since an absolute beginning can never be exhibited, the 
genetic method cannot really explain anything. Now the fact is, as we 
shall quickly show, that the use of the genetic method has nothing to do with 
the notion of an absolute beginning. Many of its ablest exponents would 
question whether any beginnings are ever absolute and would incline to the 
opinion that they are merely arbitrary and conventional assumptions of 
ours. It is true that the earlier stages of a development, as compared with 
the later stages, have a peculiar value for the method ; but they have not 
a greater value. And if a choice were to be made, it is the later stages — 
those more closely resembling the form that is to be analyzed — that would 
have the preference. 

Suppose, for example, it is the adult human brain that is to be analyzed. 
This is an organ of such extreme complexity, that, to a direct examination, 
it is utterly baffling. How does the anatomist proceed ? In the first place, 
he arranges in an ordered series the brains of many other vertebrates, from 



THE METHODS OF ETHICS 19 

traditions which date from earlier centuries. But such 
traditions may become so seriously modified in the course of 
time, and so encrusted over with later material, as to be rec- 
ognized only with great difficulty and uncertainty. Now 
the period before the invention of writing is of immense 
importance for genetic study. We are fortunate, therefore, 
in being able to supplement our records by a comparison with 
the savage and barbarous peoples that still exist — just as 
the paleontologist pieces out the geological record of the ex- 
tinct forms of life upon the earth, by noting the survivals of 
the old types which still, in one place or another, have man- 
aged to persist. Much caution is of course necessary. It is 
not as if, while our race was steadily progressing, these sim- 
pler peoples were retaining unchanged the beliefs and prac- 
tices of their ancestors — though at the same time it must 
not be supposed that social changes go on everywhere at 
anything like the same rate. But by a careful comparison 
it is possible in many cases to show important analogies be- 
tween the morality of the backward peoples and our own 

the lowest fishes to the anthropoid apes, which, on various grounds, he sup- 
poses may preserve the traits of man's ancestors. The brain of the chim- 
panzee is like a map of the human brain ; the brain of the fish is like a sche- 
matic diagram. Starting from the latter, and running his eye along the series, 
he sees the baffling complexity of the human brain sort itself out before him. 
In the second place, he examines the brains of human embryos of every 
stage ; and here again, as he passes from the simpler to the more complex, 
if he can but follow the dividing strands of the development, the problem of 
analysis is well advanced toward its solution. But the fish or the fish-like 
embryo, taken by itself, would be of very limited significance. The anato- 
mist could learn something from it ; but it would be of a very superficial and 
uncertain sort. It is the development that is instructive ; and it is the more 
instructive, the fewer and slighter are the gaps in the record, and the farther 
back it can be extended. But, when they are taken by themselves, one 
chimpanzee is worth a thousand fishes. 

Similarly, if it is the vocabulary of the English language that is studied, 
it is important to trace it to its Latin, Anglo-Saxon, and other sources. For 
a scientific knowledge of the English of to-day, a knowledge of Latin is in- 
dispensable. But, taken by itself, it is sufficient only to give one a super- 
ficial and dangerous conceit of knowledge. 



20 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

primitive morality, and by more or less probable surmises 
to extend the historical record back far beyond the time 
when all direct evidences cease. 

Survivals of Barbarism in Civilization. — Moreover, the 
survivals of old culture are not simply to be found among the 
backward peoples. They are present in ourselves . Consider, 
for example, the way in which the young girl is commonly 
taught to regard her chastity — as a precious possession 
which once lost can never be regained ; as a kind of purity 
which, once contaminated, can never be restored to its former 
state. There is a certain amount of truth, no doubt, in these 
old conceptions ; and yet at times they are brought into the 
most violent conflict with higher and better views. That a 
single slip on the part of an unprotected and sorely tempted 
girl may doom her, in her own eyes as well as in those of 
the whole community, to a lifelong degradation, is barba- 
rism pure and simple. And it may help us to under- 
stand how our barbarian forbears felt about many other 
matters. 

The Morality of Childhood. — Finally, the two genetic 
series, the development of the individual and the develop- 
ment of society, may be expected to illuminate each other 
at many points. Up to the present time, however, childish 
morality has been very inadequately studied. The practical 
problems of moral education have, indeed, received the atten- 
tion of many of the greatest and noblest thinkers. But the 
more fundamental theoretical problem of distinguishing the 
characteristic childish ways of thinking and feeling about 
moral distinctions is still in a very unsatisfactory condition. 
Less help, therefore, can be derived from this source than the 
ethicist would wish. 

Value of the Genetic Method. — The genetic study of 
morality has not made the older direct methods superfluous 
— if only because it is always in terms of the inner life of 
to-day that the records of the past must be interpreted. This 



THE METHODS OF ETHICS 21 

fact has been used by thinkers of conservative tendencies to 
discredit the value of genetic studies. If the study of our 
own morality must give us the terms in which to understand 
that of primitive man, how can the knowledge of the latter 
help us to interpret the former? Is not the whole genetic 
procedure a vicious circle ? But, after all, the case is much 
the same as with our understanding of one another. No 
one of us can see directly into another's heart. We must 
interpret one another's words, actions, gestures, in terms of 
what we ourselves have thought and felt. Nevertheless 
we know that a richer self-knowledge is thus gained. The 
wise saying of Schiller applies without modification to the 
study of primitive man : 

" Wouldst thou thyself discern, then see how the others are living. 
Wouldst thou the others know — look into thine own heart." 

Moral Dynamics. — One result of the genetic study of 
morality has been to bring into prominence a new set of ethical 
problems, concerned with the discovery of the factors of moral 
evolution and the laws of their operation. These problems 
bring our attention forcibly back to the direct analysis of 
our own moral consciousness. Historical records at the best 
are disconnected. It is hard to catch in the act the most 
important changes. Their significance was not fully felt 
at the time, and their gradual stages passed unnoticed. 
Moral dynamics can be studied to the greatest advantage 
in the present or in the very recent past. Our own day is 
one of rapid moral changes. The social and economic trans- 
formations brought about by the varied utilization of steam 
and electricity and by the rise of the corporation of limited 
liabilities are having their inevitable effect upon traditional 
standards of right and wrong. Never was there a time when 
the ethicist could study to better advantage the phenomena 
of moral progress. The civilized world has become a veri- 
table laboratory for his use. 



22 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

REFERENCES 

Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, Book I, Chs. I-IV. 
Wundt, W., Ethics, Introduction. 

Seth, J., A Study of Ethical Principles, Introduction, Ch. I. 
Taylor, A. E., The Problem of Conduct, Ch. I. 
Levy-Brtjhl, L., Ethics and Moral Science. 
Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. I. 
Hobhotjse, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part I, Ch. I. 
Dewey, J., The Evolutionary Method as applied to Morality, Philo- 
sophical Review, 1902, pp. 107-124, 353-371. 



CHAPTER III 
THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 

I. Character and Conduct 

Order of Procedure. — When one attempts a systematic 
account of so complex a matter as morality, it is not easy to 
find a natural order of procedure. On every page one finds 
oneself taking for granted positions which are justified only 
on some later page; and when the attempt is made to re- 
verse the order of exposition, no improvement is effected. 
In the case of ethics a partial remedy for this difficulty lies 
in the fact that the reader knows a good deal about morality 
already, if only in an uncritical, common-sense fashion ; so 
that except where our own conclusions fly in the face of com- 
mon sense, we can presume upon this prior knowledge. The 
difficulty is greatest where we touch on questions upon which 
a wide difference of opinion exists. Here we must (until 
we have had time to discuss these questions on our own ac- 
count) adopt a middle-of-the-road policy, expressing our- 
selves in ways that will not be grossly inconsistent with any 
of the more important theories. And we shall be the more 
justified in this course, because, as a matter of fact, there 
is reason to think that in none of the great ethical con- 
troversies has any side been wholly right or wholly wrong. 

The Study of Moral Judgments. — One of the oldest and 
most persistent grounds of difference has been the question 
whether morality is essentially (or predominantly) a matter 
of feeling or a matter of judgment. In the following chapters 
we shall take for granted that both feeling and judgment are 
essential, and easily and quickly pass into each other, though 
at any given time either may operate without the other. 

23 



24 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Because the moral judgment is, in general, clearer and 
steadier than the feeling, and hence more readily referred to, 
we shall for the most part (where it does not matter other- 
wise) speak in terms of the judgment. 

The Question before Us. — The study of moral judgments 
involves two main questions : first, What is the field within 
which we employ them, or to what kinds of things do they 
apply? and, secondly, What is their significance, or how do 
we intend to characterize the things to which we apply them ? 
In logical terms, we need an account of the subjects and the 
predicates of these judgments. The present chapter will 
try to furnish an answer to the first question, so far as it can 
be done without anticipating our answer to the second — 
or, at least, without anticipating it any farther than common 
sense will authorize us in doing. 

General Answer. — In a general way the answer which 
we seek is obvious enough. Moral judgments apply to char- 
acter and to conduct. We may, perhaps, go farther and say 
that they apply to character as it shows itself in conduct, and 
to conduct as it springs from the agent's character; but this 
will need some justification. 

Objections : (1) In the first place, it may be objected that 
character may be good or bad without showing itself in con- 
duct ; just as a talent may slumber in obscurity and be none 
the less real for that. Suppose a brave man dwelling in the 
midst of perfect security, or a man with the heart of a tyrant 
born to the life of a slave. Opportunity may give him the 
chance to exhibit his true self in action ; but, if not, is not the 
one still brave and the other still tyrannical ? 

Suppose we admit this — though we shall soon find that 
the admission means less than at first sight appears. Never- 
theless it remains true, that if we are to judge of a man's 
character, his conduct must ever be our surest evidence; 
and this holds, even of ourselves. There are secondary 
indications, to be sure : features and tones of voice, and (in 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 25 

our own case) feelings and opinions in plenty. But, after all, 
" the tree is known by its fruits.' ' Experience has shown us 
only too well that a benevolent countenance may be the mask 
of cruelty, and that nothing is more deceptive than the fine 
feelings in which we luxuriate without putting them into ef- 
fect. If there is actionless virtue, it is an unknown quantity 
— what the philosopher calls a ' thing-in-itself .' However, 
we must beware of taking the term ' conduct ' too narrowly. 
The crouch must be counted as well as the spring. A good 
part of conduct consists in preparing ourselves for future 
contingencies, in assuming attitudes upon various issues ; 
and this sort of conduct is observable both in ourselves and in 
others. " Thou shalt not covet " may be kept or broken as 
clearly as " Thou shalt not steal.' ' 

(2) In the second place, it may be said that conduct may 
be right or wrong in itself, wholly apart from the character 
that prompts it. A gift of money to the poor may spring 
from charity or from hypocrisy ; but in either case is not the 
act itself right ? Would you feel warranted in advising the 
giver to withhold his gift? Again, if the act were a theft, 
would you stop to inquire what the agent's motives were 
before pronouncing it wrong? What if it were an act of 
sacrilege or treason? 

There are at least two distinct misunderstandings involved 
in this objection. It should be remembered that it is through 
men's conduct that we judge of their character; and this 
has to be done, more or less, by general rules. Now there 
are some deeds that we commonly condemn on sight, without 
reflection. In such cases we need not stop to inquire about 
motives, because the conduct itself is warrant for attributing 
an evil character to the agent. But so far from its being 
true that we judge the act and not the man, we are very 
apt to judge the man too harshly. We dub the man who has 
committed a single theft a ' thief,' and that may be a cruel 
exaggeration. 



26 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

But the other misunderstanding is more serious. It con- 
sists in picking out a single act from the course of conduct of 
which it is a part, and insisting that there is nothing wrong 
with it, in itself. As well pick a single phrase out of an in- 
correct sentence, and say : " Is there anything intrinsically 
wrong in this? " The hypocritical gift does not stand by 
itself. It belongs to a general policy. To say that it 
is right as far as it goes means only that the wrongness 
lies elsewhere; and it is far from justifying the inference, 
that conduct may be judged one way and character the 
other. 

Restatement. — What we suggested may, therefore, be 
affirmed with some confidence; namely, that moral judg- 
ments apply to character and conduct simultaneously, though 
with varying emphasis upon the one or the other. Men are 
such as their deeds declare them ; and to judge a deed is to 
judge the character of him who would commit it. 

II. The Moral Agent 
Capacity for Deliberation and Self-judgment. — But who 
are the men, and what are the deeds, that we judge? The 
men are obviously those whom we regard as capable of some 
deliberation. The baby, who acts from sheer impulse, upon 
the latest suggestion that has entered his head, we do not 
think of judging morally. We call it a ' good ' ora' bad ' 
baby, but that means no more than c comfortable ' or 
1 troublesome.' Similarly with the grossly imbecile and the 
insane : we do not count them as moral agents. But a ca- 
pacity for deliberation is not enough. The good or bad man 
must be capable of passing a moral judgment upon his own 
acts. This is probably why we do not regard as moral agents 
even the highest of the lower animals. For though scientists 
believe that they are almost entirely incapable of delibera- 
tion, this is not the popular opinion ; but few men have been 
willing to accredit them with a moral faculty. The utmost 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 27 

that even their good friend Darwin could say was that " dogs 
have something very like a conscience." On the other hand, as 
we are very apt to attribute to little children thoughts and 
feelings like our own, we are inclined to pass moral judg- 
ments on them from a very early age. 

Moral Judgments on Animals and Things among Savages. 
— Here it may be objected, that while we may limit our 
moral judgments in this way, all men are not in accord with 
us. Many peoples have pronounced moral judgments freely 
upon animals and even upon inanimate objects. The savage 
is righteously indignant at the cocoanut which falls upon his 
head and thinks it treachery in the spear that it fails to strike 
the game; and he punishes them accordingly. If a tiger 
has killed his near kinsman, he seeks it out and compasses 
its death with as strong a sense of duty as if it were a human 
criminal. But this is because the savage does not draw the 
line between rational and irrational or unconscious beings, as 
we do. He thinks of the offending cocoanut either as alive 
and spiteful, or, at least, as harboring a malicious sprite, 
whom he tries to reach ; while the animals are regarded as 
being in all essential respects like men. Properly viewed, 
therefore, there is here rather a confirmation than a contra- 
diction of the view expressed above. 

Similar Phenomena among More Advanced Peoples. — 
It may still, however, be said that among many peoples far 
removed from primitive savagery the legal punishment of 
animals and inanimate things for murder has been kept up 
for a long time. Athens had a special court for such cases ; 
and the great Plato in his model code of laws gave it his 
indorsement (Laws, 873 E-874 A). The man-slaying ani- 
mal was killed, and either animal or thing was thrown 
outside the borders. By the early Hebrew law, "If an ox 
gore a man or woman to death, the ox shall be surely stoned 
[like a man that had committed a foul crime] and its flesh 
shall not be eaten." (Exodus xxi. 28.) Similar practices 



28 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

were found in Europe in the middle ages, and vestiges of them 
remained down to the nineteenth century. 

Explanation. — But here there are evidently several fac- 
tors involved. In the first place, legal forms are wonder- 
fully tenacious, and are often preserved when they lead to 
consequences that are generally acknowledged to be fool- 
ish or positively harmful. Our own legal procedure is no- 
toriously full of instances. In the second place, the ' punish- 
ment ' may be a precautionary measure. It may prevent 
the repetition of a real danger. And where there is no real 
danger (as in the case of a knife that has fallen on a man), 
superstition readily imagines one. Bad magic or ill luck 
may attach to it. The shedding of human blood is especially 
thought of as causing a 'pollution that must be removed. 
That is why the Athenians ' banished ' the fatal thing or the 
carcass of the fatal animal; and that is why the Hebrews 
were forbidden to eat the murderous ox. Or an accidental 
death may be supposed to indicate some divine displeasure. 
So the English law of the deodand (repealed only in 1846) 
directed that a thing which had caused a man's death should 
be confiscated and sold for charity, in order that God's wrath 
might be appeased — though the innocent owner might 
thereby suffer a ruinous loss. Here again the legal practice 
long outlived the superstition. In the third place, though 
we may no longer judge animals or things as we should 
moral beings, we are quite capable of being angry with them, 
and even of hating them. And so, unless we are unusually 
enlightened, we like to vent our ill feeling on the thing that 
has deeply hurt us. Finally, even though we may cherish 
no ill feeling, we like to have a thing to which evil associa- 
tions cling put out of the way. 

We have, therefore, no reason to infer that any moral 
judgment is involved in the matter, or to suppose that such a 
judgment is ever passed except upon agents who are conceived 
to possess the power of deliberation and moral judgment. 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 29 



III. Extent of Moral Conduct 

Moral Conduct is Voluntary. — The conduct that we 
judge must, if it springs from the agent's character, be 
voluntary — at least in the sense that his body must not be 
the helpless tool of a superior power. Ordinarily, we may 
add that the agent must not be coerced by intense pain or 
fear ; for except under special mental conditions — say the 
enthusiasm of an heroic purpose — pain or fear may move 
our limbs as irresistibly as any external force, and so we 
do not blame a man for what he does under such circum- 
stances. 

Deliberate and Unreflecting Acts. — From what has been 
said above we may infer that the conduct that is open to 
moral judgment consists primarily of deliberate acts, and 
especially of acts which the agents themselves are thought 
to have judged; for except for these we should not regard 
the agents as moral beings at all. But we do not stop here. 
If the man is capable of deliberation and moral judgment, 
he need not show his capacity in each and every case. We 
freely approve or disapprove his most unreflecting acts. 
The very fact that a man did not stop to reflect may exhibit 
him to us all the more vividly as a hero or as a villain. How 
is this to be accounted for? The explanation comes to us 
from Aristotle. Our unreflective actions are (generally 
speaking) the result of habit. But our habits are formed by 
acts which in the first instance are more or less deliberate, — 
as the trite example of learning to play a piece of music suffi- 
ciently illustrates. Our habitual conduct is thus, to a large 
extent, what our deliberate conduct has made it. Conse- 
quently, habitual conduct is indirectly subject to moral 
judgment as being an evidence of what deliberate conduct 
has been, and hence of what the agent's character was and is. 

Conduct preceded by a Moral Judgment. — We may add 
to this that conduct which is preceded by a moral judgment 



30 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

as to the Tightness or wrongness of the contemplated course 
of action has an especially important part in the shaping 
of character and of future conduct, and may well be con- 
sidered as the moral conduct par excellence. Many ethicists, 
ancient and modern, have even held that no act is morally 
good, if it is done for any other reason than that it is the 
right thing to do; and in modern times Immanuel Kant 
insisted that if there is the least admixture of any other motive, 
— say love for one's friend or country, — the act loses all 
its moral worth. This last view may be set aside as an ex- 
aggeration ; and, indeed, Kant himself admitted that on his 
theory we should have no logical ground for believing that 
an act with any degree of goodness at all had ever been 
committed. 

Summary. — If we reflect how our conduct upon one occa- 
sion helps to determine how we shall behave upon another 
occasion, we shall have no difficulty in seeing that almost 
all our voluntary conduct is, directly or indirectly, open 
to praise or blame : first, acts that are accompanied by a 
moral judgment; next, deliberate acts in general; and 
finally, habitual acts. If there are any exceptions, they must 
spring from original instincts that have been unreached by 
conscious control ; and in the well-grown child, not to speak 
of the adult man, such acts are of very slight importance. 

The Correction of Habits. — There is another side of 
the matter, of which we must also take account. We fre- 
quently judge habitual acts in this sense, that we hold that 
the habits which they exhibit ought to be corrected. (Less im- 
portant are the favorable judgments, that the habits need no 
correction.) The habits are wrong, we say ; and this means, 
not so much that they have been wrongly incurred, as that 
the agent would do wrong to continue to indulge them. The 
judgment thus looks forward, rather than back. But it 
equally involves an indirect moral judgment upon deliberate, 
morally controlled acts ; namely, the acts by which the habits 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 31 

in question are conceived to be corrected or tolerated. This 
sort of judgment is particularly important, as it is a means 
by which we call men's attention to their evil habits and thus, 
perhaps, bring about their correction. When we have de- 
clared to a man that one of his habits is wrong, it is no longer 
a mere habit, but a habit which has been brought before his 
own moral judgment ; and his later persistence in such con- 
duct must be judged accordingly. 

Morally Indifferent Conduct. — It should be observed that 
the fact that almost all our conduct is open to moral judg- 
ment does not imply that if any given act were judged, it 
would necessarily be found to be appreciably good or bad. 
The vast majority of our acts are, so far as we know, indif- 
ferent. Of course we never stop to judge more than a petty 
fraction of them; and we should quickly defeat our own 
ends if we should attempt to do so. 

IV. Content of the Moral Act 
1. The Problem 

Complexity of Deliberate Conduct. — The question may 
be raised, how much the act, as a subject of moral judgment, 
comprehends. For a deliberate act is a fairly complicated 
phenomenon. Let us take an example. A cowboy, who 
has lost his money at gambling, is weary of the hard life 
of the ranch and longs for a debauch in town. He 
tampers with a railroad switch. The train, he thinks, will 
certainly be derailed; all on board will be more or less 
shaken up ; and some may be seriously injured or even killed. 
The thought makes him wince, though he has seen bloodshed 
more than once; but he is unwilling to go back to the 
ranch, and he must have his fling. In the confusion, he 
counts upon being able to surprise and overawe the passengers 
and crew, kill any one who attempts resistance, and make off 
with the valuable contents of the express car. What actu- 



32 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ally happens is, that while the train is partly derailed, no 
serious injury results, and the man himself is wounded and 
taken prisoner. 

Analysis. — Here we may easily distinguish between the 
external side of the act, as it might have been seen by a 
favorably situated spectator, and the internal side, or voli- 
tion, of which only the agent himself could be directly aware. 
The former, we may say, contains the physical act itself — 
the voluntary movements made in tampering with the switch 
— and the actual consequences which followed from it. These 
consequences were in part foreseen, but for the most part 
unforeseen, by the agent. Again, the volition contains two 
parts or factors — we need not now ask which term is more 
appropriate. In the first place, there is the emotional factor, 
the combination of motives which urge the man to persist 
in, or refrain from, his act : discontent, greed, lust, etc., 
on the one hand, and pity and fear, on the other. (The 
stronger emotions, which dominate the act, are often called 
simply ' the motive.') In the second place, there is the in- 
tellectual factor, or intention; that is to say, the act and 
its consequences as foreseen by the agent. The particular 
consequences for the sake of which the act is performed, 
and to which (as we say) the dominant motives attach, 
are the end, or purpose — in our example, the escape from 
drudgery, and the debauch in town. From the end we dis- 
tinguish the means devised to accomplish it : the tampering 
with the switch, the display of force, and, if necessary, 
murder. And we similarly distinguish any other conse- 
quences which the agent perceives to be involved in his act, 
but in which he takes no effectual interest — e.g. the risk 
of injury to the train and its occupants. 

For a second example, we may consider the act of a woman 
who drops a ten-dollar bill into the hat of a professional 
beggar. Her motive is pity; her end is to relieve misery; 
and the gift is intended as a means to effect this end. Actu- 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 



33 



ally, let us say, the beggar spends the money in a debauch 
from which he never recovers. 

The whole division may be set forth thus : 

External f Voluntary movements 
side I Actual consequences 



The act 



Foreseen 
Unforeseen 



Volition 



Motives 



Intention 



J Dominant 
1 Suppressed 
End 
Means 

Other foreseen conse- 
quences 

How Much does the Moral Act Comprehend? — Now 
almost every fraction of the whole act as thus analyzed has 
been regarded as the proper subject of moral judgments. 
No thinker of any consequence has thus singled out the physi- 
cal side to the neglect of the psychological side ; but there 
has been a good deal of difference of opinion as to whether 
the psychological side alone constitutes the moral act. 
Again, some have held that only the motive counts, while 
others have said the same of the intention. Though no one 
has seriously held that the end alone is of consequence (apart 
from the means and from other anticipated consequences 
of the act), men have sometimes imputed this view to their 
adversaries, and it goes by the name of Jesuitry. This makes 
at least four important views as to the constitution of the 
moral act : (1) that it is the act and its consequences as a 
whole ; (2) that it is the volition ; (3) that it is the motive ; 
and (4) that it is the intention ; while (5) the view that it 
is the end may be dismissed from consideration. 

2. Status of Unforeseen Consequences 
The Problem. — From what was said in an earlier part 
of this chapter, we may be led to infer that so far as the con- 
sequences of the act are not foreseen by the agent, they do 



34 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

■> ji . 

not express his character and hence form no part of his act. 
It is not due to the robber, we may say, that the train holds 
the track and that hundreds of men and women escape 
injury ; and it is not the woman's fault that the beggar does 
not make better use of his opportunity. But when we re- 
flect upon our judgments in such cases, do we find that they 
confirm this view? Is not our condemnation of the former 
far less severe and uncompromising than it would be if the 
horrors of an actual wreck were before our mind? And 
would we not admire the latter far more if there were a re- 
constructed life to show for her charity ? 

Indirect Approach. — These questions are not so simply 
answered as a hasty inspection might lead us to suppose. 
No excuse is commoner than, " I didn't mean to " ; but it 
is by no means always accepted. It will be well for us to 
approach the consideration of the problem indirectly, and, 
before attempting to determine the moral significance of un- 
foreseen consequences, to try to see clearly just what the 
foreseen consequences contemplated by the moral judgment 
include. 

(1) Meaning of ' Foreseen.' — ' Foreseen ' is a very much 
broader term than ' definitely expected.' We foresee not 
only certainties but probabilities and possibilities of every 
degree. The maid who empties a pitcher of water out of a 
window may see the man standing on the sidewalk below; 
or, without glancing out, she may be well aware that men 
are constantly passing by ; or the hour may be such that she 
thinks there is very little chance of any one's being in that 
locality. Now it is obvious that even slight possibilities 
may affect the moral value of an act. It is commendable 
to take into account a chance of doing good, even though a 
strong probability of a different result is perceived ; and it is 
blameworthy to take chances of doing harm, even though 
the chances are not great. The good physician does not 
spare his pains upon the desperate case ; and the good soldier 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 35 

holds the fort against overwhelming odds. And, on the 
other hand, the chauffeur who disregards the warning signals 
at a sharp turn in a narrow road is condemned as rash, even 
though there may be very little chance that another vehicle 
is approaching just at that moment. 

Some Possibilities are Negligible. — And yet this must 
not be pushed too far. For if we attempt to allow for all the 
possibilities in every situation we shall never be able to act 
at all. We must omit chances of doing good, and we must 
take chances of doing harm. Probability must to a large 
extent be the guide of life. We may, then, fairly say that 
possibilities of a very low grade do not fall within the scope 
of the moral act ; and such possibilities are regarded as l un- 
foreseen/ or ' unintended/ even though we have had them 
distinctly in mind. 

Negligibility is Matter of Opinion. — But just how slight 
must the possibility be to warrant our ignoring it? There 
is no general answer. The degree varies greatly. Large 
interests, of course, lessen the attention that we can spare 
to small ones ; and the necessity for prompt action excuses 
what might otherwise be pure rashness. But beyond such 
vague principles as these, all is matter of opinion — either 
one's own peculiar personal opinion, drawn from one's own 
experience, or the public opinion which grows out of the 
general experience and is more or less shared by all the mem- 
bers of the community. 

The Common Opinion as Standard. — What happens 
when the spectator and the man whom he is judging differ 
in opinion as to the possibilities that may be disregarded? 
The former may say that the latter is committing a mere 
error of judgment, and acquit him of evil-doing. For an 
error of judgment is not an immoral act or even an act at 
all ; and no goodness of heart can take away a man's liability 
to error. It may, however, lessen it. The good man who 
sincerely tries to do what is right, takes his failures and his 



36 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

almost-failures to heart and corrects his judgment by them ; 
and besides he is ready to take note of, if not to accept, the 
criticisms of others ; whereas the bad man, who is less anx- 
ious to avoid evil consequences, goes on his way unreflecting. 
It thus often happens that an error of judgment may be taken 
as an indication of an immoral character. The chauffeur 
who cares very much whether he causes serious injury is 
very likely to form a tolerably sound judgment as to what he 
can safely do. We therefore take the common opinion as a 
rough standard, and regard any man who is distinctly less 
careful than it calls for as in this respect a bad man. 

(2) Unforeseen Possibilities. — Now, is not the case per- 
fectly similar with the possible consequences which are not 
simply disregarded but are not borne in mind at all, or which 
the agent may be too ignorant to anticipate ? A man cannot 
bear everything in mind ; still less can he know everything. 
Accordingly, when we see any one acting in entire unmindful- 
ness of possibilities which we ourselves think of as important, 
we often excuse him on the ground of forgetfulness or igno- 
rance. And yet these are not always an excuse. The man 
who is anxious to do right is, generally speaking, less prone 
to forget and more ready to learn. There are some things 
which every good man may be expected to know and to 
remember. There are others which lack of experience may 
easily cause him to overlook. If the woman, who, without 
investigation, gave ten dollars to a professional beggar, were 
very young or had lived a very circumscribed life, we should 
not think ill of her for her impulsiveness. But when a man 
wastes his strength in dissipation ; when he spreads slander- 
ous reports ; when he neglects the training of his children — 
in such cases we are not apt to admit the plea that he did not 
think of the possible consequences. For that is one of the 
characteristics of a bad man : not to think of consequences. 
As a general rule, the careless man is a man who does not 
care. 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 37 

The moral judgment which we pass upon an act because of 
its unconsidered possibilities is thus, like the judgment upon 
a wholly unreflective act (see above, p. 29), indirect. A 
man who was incapable of learning from experience how to 
weigh chances, and whose attention was so weak that it wan- 
dered constantly from the things that concerned him most, 
would be an idiot and not a moral agent at all. Of men in 
general we may safely say that what they now fail to consider 
is determined by what they have in the past considered. 

(3) Effect of Actual Consequences. — In all this, let it be 
observed, it is mere possibilities that we have been discussing. 
We condemn the man who neglects his children, though there 
have been many cases in which neglected children have 
grown up into strong and useful citizens. So much is clear. 
But now let us ask what particular effect the actual conse- 
quences have upon our moral judgment. 

Exaggeration of Moral Value. — It is easy to see that, as 
a rule, they affect us more strongly than mere possibilities 
do, and that consequently the good or evil quality of the act 
is greatly intensified in our eyes. When a man tries to do 
us a service, we perceive his kindness ; but when he succeeds, 
the more vivid sense of the benefit makes the kindness seem 
far greater. This effect, however, is one which reflection 
tends to weaken, and consequently is regarded as an illusion. 
In our cool moments of afterthought we do not hesitate to 
say that, where the endeavor is the same, success and failure 
do not affect the moral value of the act. 

Prima Facie Evidence of Possibility. — At the same time 
the fact that a consequence occurs is prima facie evidence 
to us that it was reasonably possible ; that is to say, that it 
was possible enough to call for forethought. That is the 
position which we naturally assume ; and evidence (or preju- 
dice) to the contrary is necessary to make us take any other. 
When an automobile runs down a child, our tendency is to 
charge the chauffeur with criminal carelessness, unless a 



38 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

strong personal regard for him, or the obvious impossibility 
of his avoiding the accident, produces a contrary effect. 
Now this is by no means a fallacious tendency, but is fully 
in accord with the logic of probabilities. Other things being 
equal, the fact that a thing does happen is presumptive 
proof that it was likely to happen. 

Evidence of Intention and Purpose. — Furthermore, the 
actual consequence is prima facie evidence to us (though 
somewhat weaker than before), that it was intended by the 
agent, and even (with still weaker force) that it was his dis- 
tinct purpose in acting. What we see coming from a man we 
ascribe to him, unless further evidence or passion makes us 
think otherwise. This, of course, does not apply to our own 
acts, for we are well aware in advance what our intentions 
and purposes are — in so far as we really have them. But 
we have to judge of the other man's intentions mainly by his 
overt acts ; and, in assuming that he means to do what he 
actually does, our judgment follows the natural path of least 
resistance. 

It must not be forgotten, however, that this assumption 
is capable of being removed by reflection; and the more 
given to reflection we are, and the less apt to be carried away 
by the impression of the moment, the more likely we are to 
correct our moral judgment by attentively discriminating 
between what the agent did or did not intend to do, as well 
as between what he might or might not reasonably have 
foreseen. 

Summary and Conclusion. — We may, therefore, say, by 
way of summary, that it is only as the actual consequences 
of the act are assumed, or reflectively believed, to be due to 
the character of the agent, that they are regarded as belong- 
ing to the act. Unforeseen consequences are in themselves 
indifferent. They may, however, be indirectly judged, in 
so far as they are felt to be indications of the way in which 
the agent intentionally acts. 



TEE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 39 

The theory, that the psychological side of an act alone 
constitutes the act as morally judged, thus turns out to be 
substantially correct. Man is not a bodiless spirit, and his 
actions are not mere thoughts or feelings. And for the most 
part it is only as thoughts and feelings are incarnate in actual 
deeds that we are able to perceive and judge them. Still, 
as our account has shown, it is the psychological side of the 
act that, so far as it appears, is of determining significance 
for the moral judgment. 

These conclusions are exactly confirmed by the study of 
the development of punishment. Among peoples of a low 
grade of culture, little or no distinction is made between the 
reparation exacted for intentional or unintentional injury, 
and the 'penalty incurred by intentional injury. But as civil 
and criminal law have become differentiated from each other, 
the latter gradually gives up the cognizance of unintentional 
acts. Thus to the savage it is all one whether I kill his 
brother accidentally or of malice aforethought. He will 
get satisfaction if he can, either by killing me or by killing 
some near relative of mine. In a civilized country the state 
will punish for a criminal act, if it was intentional, but only 
exceptionally otherwise. But if I infringe upon legally pro- 
tected rights, the law will compel me to make restitution, 
whether I intended the act or not. 

3. Motive vs. Intention 

The Motive as Object of Judgment. — It has been said 
that moralists have been seriously divided upon the question, 
whether the motive or the intention is the proper and ulti- 
mate object of moral judgment. On the one side, it is urged 
that it is the motives that make up the character of the man, 
of which his intentions are but an after-effect. It is love and 
hate, charity and greed, pride and humility, and the like that 
make different objects appeal to us and set us a-following 
after them. And the only way in which the objects are of 



40 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

importance for the moral judgment is that they serve to indi- 
cate the inner springs of feeling. In two actions, if the inten- 
tion is alike but the motive is different, the moral value differs 
with the motive. When one man enlists as a soldier from 
patriotism and another from ennui ; when one man refuses 
to fight from religious scruples and another from cowardice ; 
we admire the former and have contempt for the latter. 
When the objection is made, that the same feeling may be 
rightly indulged on one occasion, while it would be wrong 
to give way to it on another, the reply is, that all depends 
upon the other motives which are active upon the two occa- 
sions. Motives are higher and lower ; and, in the good man, 
when they clash the higher prevail. Parental love, for ex- 
ample, is noble as compared with love of money ; it is petty 
as compared with patriotism. 

The Intention as Object of Judgment. — But, on the other 
hand, it may be urged, that while in a general way one mo- 
tive may be regarded as higher than another, yet one cannot 
from that infer that the one ought always to take precedence 
Over the other. In the familiar conflict between love of 
country and love of wife and children, the issue has not al- 
ways to be decided in the same way. The urgency of the 
needs upon both sides, the consequences reasonably to be 
expected from the choice of each alternative, must be 
weighed. It is the intention alone that provides a sufficient 
basis for the decision. Motives are good, when they give 
rise to good intentions. As for the examples cited, where 
change of motive alone is supposed to bring about a change 
in the moral judgment, the evident fact is that the intention 
also changes. The coward, for example, does not see the 
same consequences impending upon his proposed enlistment 
that occur to the sturdy Quaker. Most of the terms used 
to denote emotions imply some particular sort of an object, 
and the intentions with respect to this object are taken for 
granted when the motive is said to be good or evil in itself. 



THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 41 

' Parental love ' implies the intention to care for one's chil- 
dren ; ' greed ' implies the intention to grasp after all the good 
things in sight ; and so forth. 

Criticism and Conclusion. — As between the two opposed 
theories, the latter (making the intention the ultimate ob- 
ject of moral judgment) appears to have the best of the argu- 
ment. But a simple reflection serves to show that this theory 
also is defective. In forming an estimate of the moral value 
of a man's intention, it is far from being an irrelevant cir- 
cumstance, to what part of the intention the motive attaches — 
which of the anticipated consequences constitutes the end, 
or purpose, of the act, and which are aimed at simply as a 
means to this end, or anticipated in a (wholly or relatively) 
indifferent way. Suppose that a legislator, voting for an anti- 
gambling bill, believes that the measure will be of great ad- 
vantage to the state, and also believes that his own part in 
passing it will increase his chances of reelection. Each of 
these anticipated results forms a part of his intention, and 
would be considered in forming an estimate of the act ; but 
the estimate would vary greatly according as we believed 
the one or the other to be the sole or principal end in view. 
But it is the feeling that determines this. 

We thus reach the result, that the true object of the moral 
judgment is the complex whole which motive and intention 
make up together ; that is to say, the volition. It is thoughts 
colored by feelings that we judge — not gray outlines of 
thought, nor vague splashes of feeling. 



APPENDIX TO CHAPTER III 

THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 

The Question Stated. — There is another question, inti- 
mately related to those discussed in the foregoing pages, 
which may be conveniently discussed in this place. We 
have seen that the moral conduct par excellence, aside from 
which no other conduct would be regarded as open to moral 
judgment, is the conduct which the agent himself judges at 
the time of action. Now when such a judgment accompanies 
the act, how is the judgment of the spectator (or of the agent 
himself at some later time) affected by it ? Does the inten- 
tion to do right always make an act right ? In more general 
terms, must we always say that an act is right or wrong 
according as the agent at the time believed it to be right or 
wrong? 



The Affirmative Answer. — This is a question which a sur- 
vey of our actual judgments in such cases seems to answer 
decisively — in each of two contradictory ways. The storj^ 
of Philip the Second and the Spanish Inquisition occurs as a 
fair test case. What are we to think of the part that he 
played in that memorable persecution, in the course of which 
thousands of innocent men and women were put to death 
with the most horrible tortures ? So far as we know, he was 
perfectly assured of his own righteousness in the matter. 
He was but doing his manifest duty. Now what more could 
he do, and what more can any man be expected to do ? To 
be sure, he had a strong natural vein of cruelty, and his pur- 
pose seems to have been mainly selfish — he was morbidly 
anxious to secure the salvation of his own soul. But what of 
that? One must not judge a man as one would a god ; and 

42 



THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 43 

if a man lives up to the dictates of his conscience, he is virtu- 
ous in the only way a man can be. 

The Negative Answer. — This sounds reasonable ; but 
somehow it is hard to accept it. It seems as if, on the same 
grounds, one would have to pardon the very worst acts of 
the worst men. For (as Aristotle pointed out) one of the 
essential characteristics of wickedness is the perversion of 
moral standards. How, then, shall we regard the very 
viciousness of a man's character as an excuse for the vicious- 
ness of his conduct? If Philip thought that duty required 
him to destroy heresy with fire, so much the worse for his own 
miserable self. 

Compromise. — As usual, where there is a strong conflict 
of opinion, there is a popular compromise view. We are 
asked to distinguish between formal Tightness and material 
Tightness. Conduct which agrees with the agent's own moral 
standard is formally right, while conduct which agrees with 
the true standard is materially right. But, even supposing 
the person judging is possessed of the true standard, this 
distinction does not help much. For the question remains, 
What is formal Tightness worth ? Is it a shadowy delusion, 
or is it something real and precious ? Perhaps the fact that 
the terms of the compromise are capable of being inter- 
preted to suit either extreme has helped to make it popular. 

We must try to go a little deeper and see what the funda- 
mental points at issue are, and how the truth on both sides 
can be satisfactorily accounted for. 

The Case for the Affirmative. — On one side there is the con- 
viction that no man is ever compelled to do wrong. Where no 
freedom of choice is left, there is no scope for moral valuation. 
Now, for a man to do what he believes to be wrong is certainly 
wrong, even though, apart from this belief, it would be pre- 
cisely the right thing for him to do. To go against one's 
conscience is wrong from every point of view. Suppose that 
Philip, believing as he did that heresy was a deadly sin, and 



44 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

that the men whom he consigned to the flames were in any 
case doomed to eternal torments and might easily lead others 
into their awful condition; thinking, too, that perhaps the 
torture of the flames might lead the dying sinner to repent- 
ance and salvation in the very hour of death — suppose he 
had allowed a natural aversion to the thought of suffering 
to withhold him from his duty. Would not this have been 
vastly worse than what he actually did ? If so, then, if the 
course he took was wrong, how was it possible for him to act 
rightly? It is not a question of what would have been right 
for one of us to do in Philip's place, but of what it was right 
for Philip to do, being the man he was. If it is never right to 
disobey one's conscience, it can never be wrong to obey it. 1 
Here we must obviate some possible misunderstanding. 
The view which we are now presenting does not imply that 
a man's moral standards cannot change — that as he reviews 
a former act, committed in the full belief in its Tightness, he 
may not conclude that on a similar occasion it would be well 
to do otherwise, or that he may not deeply regret the lack of 
insight which he then displayed. It does mean that the act 
was nevertheless morally right, and that the contrary course, 
inasmuch as it was condemned by the best judgment the man 
then possessed, would have been distinctly wrong. Again, 
it does not mean that a man ought to have unlimited confi- 
dence in his own judgment, but simply that, in the last re- 
sort, it is in his own judgment that he must trust. For the 
respect paid to a commonly received opinion or to the advice 
of a respected friend is, after all, the man's own judgment. 
Finally, it does not mean that one ought to desire nothing 

1 As thus stated, the argument applies only to conduct which is believed 
by the agent to be not only right (i.e. permissible) but obligatory. But it 
may be extended to cases where the given alternatives seem to him to be 
equally innocent. If in such a case we say that the course which he pursues 
is wrong, are we not taking his moral character out of his power and making 
it the sport of chance ? But that is to deny him all true liberty and re- 
sponsibility. 



THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 45 

except to do what is right, and to regard everything else with 
the indifference of a cynic ; but simply that one ought not 
to desire to do anything that does not seem right. Why 
should there not be plenty of good things in the world, which 
a man may innocently seek after and enjoy? 

The Case for the Negative. — On the other side there is 
the persistent conviction that men like Philip are wicked 
men, and that to condone their wickedness is to be false to 
our most precious ideals, to deliver ourselves over to a moral 
anarchy. If we make an idol of well-intentioned ignorance, 
every motive for self -enlightenment is taken away. Whether 
or not virtue is identical with knowledge, or with some sort 
of knowledge, it is outrageous to pretend that no knowledge 
is involved in it. Human virtue may not be the virtue of a 
god ; but it is the virtue of a man, not of a beast. 

How far are these last considerations valid? Let us see. 

Examination of the Negative Arguments. — In the first 
place, it is an error to suppose that when a man resolves to 
follow the best judgment that he possesses, he will not try 
to better his judgment. Rather will he have a new and 
powerful motive for doing so. And if he sees another well- 
intentioned man doing what seems to him to be ill-advised, 
there is no reason why he should not wish to enlighten him 
in the matter. Nay, the very fact that the other man is 
doing his best gives an additional incentive to advise him ; 
for there is the greater chance that the advice, if sensible, 
will be acted on. We do not " make an idol of well-inten- 
tioned ignorance " when we say that in all grades of ignorance 
or enlightenment to be well-intentioned is right and to be 
evilly intentioned is wrong. 

Motives for Improvement not Affected. — But is not a 
man with a good conscience content with himself, and does 
not a man who is content with himself cease to try to im- 
prove ? This is a plea that is often heard ; but it only needs 
to be set down in black and white for us to see how ground- 



46 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF .ETHICS 

less it is. A man with a good conscience is content with 
himself — on the whole. But he may be profoundly dis- 
contented with himself in many particular respects. In 
fact, as ordinary self-observation suffices to show, an earnest 
effort at self-improvement is one of the things that conscience 
most commonly demands of us. Quite as obviously false is 
the supposition that if we regard a man as morally justified 
in his foolish conduct, we can have no reason to wish him to 
be wise enough to act differently. If we have any affection 
or sympathy for him, we will wish to save him the many 
pangs which the consequences of his folly may bring upon 
him — to say nothing of desiring for him the joy which ex- 
panding knowledge itself brings. And if we are selfish we 
will still wish to avoid ill consequences to ourselves. For 
men live together in so intimate a union that they are deeply 
concerned with one another's mode of life. The conditions 
of their happiness are most complexly interwoven. Now, 
doubtless the morality of our neighbors is much the most 
important factor in their usefulness to us. But it is not the 
only factor. We would rather have them ignorant and 
good than well-informed and malignant. But surely we 
would like best to have them good and wise to boot. 

General Agreement of Moral Standards. — In the second 
place, what of the fear of moral anarchy? Is this well 
founded? Let us note, first, that the consciences of well- 
intentioned men in any society show a strong mutual resem- 
blance. Individuals are peculiar, but they are not altogether 
peculiar. The approval of certain modes of conduct as right, 
and of certain other modes as wrong, runs pretty uniformly 
through all classes of men and women. The differences that 
are observable are mainly with respect to the degree of im- 
portance of the various moral requirements, or with respect 
to the validity of the excuses that may be urged for various 
deviations from the usual requirements. Thus some will 
regard adultery as the deadliest of sins, and some others will 



THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 47 

regard it as of much less consequence than commercial dis- 
honesty; but all will agree that it is wrong. Thus, again, 
one merchant may hold himself to strict truthfulness in his 
advertisements, while another may feel that trade customs 
are such that customers expect some degree of exaggeration 
and make allowance for it ; but both agree that to receive 
money on false pretenses is wrong — as a general rule. The 
actual difference in men's moral standards is thus far from 
being anarchical. To judge them by their own standards is, 
in general, not very different from judging them by our own 
or by the standard of public opinion. In fact, in most cases 
there is no practical difference. We cannot see into other 
men's consciences; and unless there is special reason for 
thinking them (or ourselves) peculiar, we are compelled to 
take for granted that they think as we do, and as men in 
general have been found to do. 

The Remaining Question. — Still, there are many evident 
exceptions, and the question remains, how are they to be 
judged? What of the genial captain of finance, who, in the 
firm conviction that all is right that is not criminal, waters 
the stock of a railroad system to several times the physical 
value of the property? What of the courtly libertine, who 
thinks himself a man of honor, and regards the systematic 
corruption of young women as mere pleasantry? Because 
these men do not condemn themselves, must we forever ac- 
quit them? And if we acquit them, is not this anarchy? 

The Social Environment as an Excuse. — The answer is 
not perfectly simple. Sometimes we do acquit them, or at 
least palliate the offense. There are reckless libertines, for 
example, who are among the most admired characters of 
history. Obviously, in such cases we take account, in some 
way, of the social conditions under which the men developed, 
and we regard them as in some measure excused by their 
environment. At the same time, it must be admitted, we 
often refuse to acquit them ; and even when the conditions 



48 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of their upbringing have been unfortunate, we make scant 
allowance on that account. No doubt we are not wholly 
fair in this. Factors of personal charm or repulsiveness, 
including even personal beauty or ugliness, move our feelings 
and give a bias to our judgment. But all the discrepancy 
is not thus to be explained. Even in our calmest reflective 
moments the fact remains that while we admit environmental 
conditions as some excuse for ill conduct, we seldom accept 
them as a complete excuse, and sometimes allow them almost 
no weight at all. The question, therefore, recurs with un- 
diminished force : If it is right for a man to do as he thinks 
right, how are we justified in judging him by any other stand- 
ard than his own? Or is our reflective moral consciousness 
involved in a hopeless self-contradiction ? 

Final Considerations. — The solution of the difficulty lies 
along lines with which a previous discussion (cf. p. 29) has 
made us familiar. In so far as a man appears to us to be the 
passive product of forces among which his own will counted 
for naught, we do not regard him as morally responsible. But 
common observation shows that a man's character and 
opinions are largely formed through his own voluntary acts. 
Generally speaking, it is not the environment as such, but 
our own voluntary reactions upon it, that make us what we 
are. 1 What effect external forces have upon us depends upon 
what we are already. More particularly, the way in which 
we obey or disobey our consciences has a good deal to do 
in determining the whole development of our consciences. 
It is by doing what we believe to be right that we become 
aware of the defects of our conceptions of right and wrong, 
and they are enlarged and corrected and refined. And by 
persisting in doing what we believe to be wrong, we confuse 

1 It may be urged, to be sure, that ultimately these voluntary acts must 
be traced back to involuntary beginnings in the shape of inherited instincts. 
But, however that may be, the question here is, not where the will comes 
from, but, having arisen, what part it plays in the determination of conduct. 



THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 49 

and distort our conceptions. Thus our moral judgment upon 
an act may have a double bearing. An act in conformity 
with conscience, which, considered by itself, is perfectly 
right, may be a most significant index of the stunting of con- 
science by habitual disobedience to it in the past. As we 
have already had occasion to remark, there are things which a 
man may be expected to know, and among these a goodly 
body of moral distinctions have their place ; and while ig- 
norance of them may be regarded as a sufficient excuse for 
a particular course of conduct, it is none the less convincing 
evidence of general moral worthlessness. 

Conclusion. — The truth, then, is that both parties to the 
controversy are fundamentally correct in their views, and no 
compromise is necessary. The apparent contradiction arises 
from the attempt to limit the moral judgment to a single 
item of conduct ; as, indeed, the use of the terms ' right ' 
and ' wrong ' constantly tempts us to do. If, instead of ask- 
ing whether an act is always right when the agent thinks it 
right, we asked whether an act is always just as good (or bad) 
as the agent thinks it ; or, better still, whether a man is al- 
ways just as good (or bad) as he takes himself to be ; every 
one would without hesitation reply in the negative. 

REFERENCES 

Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, Book III, Chs. I-V. 

Wtjndt, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. I. 

Stout, G. F., The Groundwork of Psychology, Ch. XVIII. 

Westermarck, E., The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, 

Chs. VIII-XIII. 
Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. II. 
Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, Chs. X, XIII. 
Hyslop, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. III. 
Muirhead, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. 
Wright, H. W., Self-realization, Part I, Ch. I. 



CHAPTER IV 

RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 
I. Responsibility 

Definition. — By responsibility, we mean the relation of a 
man to his conduct, by virtue of which it makes him the sub- 
ject of moral approval or disapproval, especially the latter. 
As thus defined, it is closely connected with the notion of 
legal responsibility, in the sense of liability to punishment. 
The two notions, however, are clearly distinct. There are 
many immoral acts for which society has no punishment ; 
and, on the other hand, punishment is often inflicted for 
reasons far removed from moral guilt. Moral responsibility 
is liability to censure. Of course, to be liable to censure im- 
plies that one is equally liable to a favorable judgment, if 
one's conduct appears to deserve it. But (for reasons which 
need not here concern us) the possibility of unfavorable 
judgment is emphasized. 

The feeling of responsibility, especially in the form of 
remorse, has been thought by many writers to be the most 
distinctive feature of the moral life. When, for example, 
Darwin attempted to show how a social animal, such as 
man's ape-like ancestor, was bound to develop a conscience 
as soon as his intelligence was sufficiently advanced, it was 
the sense of remorse for a cruelly heedless act that he had 
especially in mind. This, no doubt, was one-sided; but 
certainly no experience is better fitted than that of remorse, 
to impress the importance of moral values upon us. 

Lapse of Responsibility. — Responsibility has temporal 
limits, though these are very indefinite. The misdeeds of 

50 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 51 

childhood and youth sometimes awake in us a sense of shame. 
Nevertheless we do not usually regard ourselves as still 
responsible for acts committed so long ago. We have left 
them behind us. And there are frequent illustrations of a 
lapse of responsibility for acts committed even in manhood. 
A few years ago, a convict, who had escaped from a federal 
prison, and later had married and settled down to a respect- 
able life, was betrayed through the malice of a former asso- 
ciate. There was a very strong public feeling of sympathy 
for him. The police officer who made the arrest, and who 
under the circumstances could have claimed a substantial 
reward, scorned to take it. Appeal was made to the Presi- 
dent of the United States for a pardon ; and though he re- 
garded it against public policy to grant a full pardon he did 
commute the sentence to a short term. 

Its Cause. — What is it that causes responsibility to"cease ? 
Evidently a change of character — such a change that the 
character can no longer be regarded as expressed in the act 
in question ; or, in other words, such a change as to warrant 
the expectation of different conduct in the future. The 
change may take place gradually, or it may be accomplished 
by a sudden acute repentance. Mere regret or even remorse, 
however, is not enough. These may be sentimental, i.e. 
may not represent the character as actual temptation reveals 
it. Nothing is commoner than ineffectual regrets that 
leave the man as they find him. If responsibility is to fall 
from a man, there must be a decided change of heart, show- 
ing itself in consistent conduct. 

II. The Relation between Fkeedom and Responsibility 

Indeterminism. — We have elsewhere remarked that a 
man is not held responsible for what he does under physical 
compulsion or (generally speaking) under the influence of 
overmastering pain or fear. Such things reduce him to the 
level of the unconscious mechanism, or, at least, to the level 



52 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of the irrational animal; and it becomes out of place to 
apply moral predicates to him. A certain class of moral 
theorists have extended this principle. They have held 
that a man cannot be held responsible for his acts, except 
in so far as he is their first cause; that is to say, except in so 
far as his will is undetermined in its choice by any previous 
condition whatsoever. In a word, the will must be free. 

This is one of many senses in which the expression ' free- 
dom of the will ' has been used. (1) Sometimes it stands 
for knowledge both of the particular circumstances of the 
action and of the various values that are at stake. (2) Some- 
times it means the power of deliberation, the suspension of 
action while various motives are being weighed. (3) It 
may denote the control of lower motives by higher motives. 
Where the former have the upper hand a man is often said to 
be the ' slave of his appetites.' (4) It may mean the control of 
conduct by one's own judgments of value, be these correct 
or incorrect. But we are now to consider it in a sense very 
different from all these : (5) the exemption of volition from 
the principle of cause and effect. It is conceived that the will 
is not determined by the conditions at the time. Given the 
same conditions, external and internal, in the minutest 
detail — character, habits, knowledge, ideals, momentary 
feelings and desires — the act might be different. The will 
is indeed attracted or repelled by different motives, but not 
controlled by them. It must freely yield to a motive before 
volition takes place. The will sits as a judge over the differ- 
ent impulses, and decides between them as between different 
claimants. The fact that a man is good leaves him equally 
free to do evil things ; and if he be evil, that fact leaves him 
at all times free to do the very noblest things. This theory 
is called ' indeterminism,' or ' Iibertarianism.' The con- 
trary theory is called ' determinism.' 

Alleged Dependence of Responsibility upon Freedom. — 
As has been said, some moralists have held that unless the 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 53 

will is, in this last sense, free, all moral judgment is invalid, 
for the agent is not responsible. Determinism, it is urged, 
makes of a man a mere machine, and, indeed, a mere part 
of the world-machine. What he does he does not of himself, 
but as the universe acts through him. Some thinkers, 
admitting the force of this contention, have proceeded to 
deny the existence of any responsibility. Blame not the man, 
they have said, but blame his parents and teachers who have 
made him what he is. And yet, why them? The calm 
conclusion of science, we are told, is this : Judge not at all. 
For the most part, however, men have been unwilling to 
accept this conclusion. If they believed that there could 
be no responsibility unless indeterminism were true, they 
have regarded this as a proof of indeterminism. And if 
they were convinced that the universality of the law of 
cause and effect could admit of no exception, then they have 
denied that responsibility was for that reason at all impaired. 

Let us consider this alleged dependence of responsibility 
upon freedom. 

The Dependence Unreal. — A little consideration should 
show us that there is a serious misunderstanding here. We 
judge a man's acts in so far as they are conceived to express 
his character. That means that they must be free in the 
sense of being his acts, due to his being the sort of man he 
is, not forced upon him despite his character. But it does 
not mean that they must be free in the sense of being inde- 
pendent of his character. For in so far as the acts are not 
caused by his character, they do not express that character, 
and hence are not open to moral judgment. 

But, it may be urged, if a man's character is the product 
of previous influences, are not those influences responsible 
for his acts? Most assuredly (we may reply), in so far as 
those previous influences consist of other moral beings — 
his parents and teachers and associates. But, much as the 
gun upon a rider's shoulder is carried both by the man and 



54 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

by the horse, so an evil deed that is directly due to the agent's 
character may (at least in part) be indirectly due to his 
father's character, and thus be a valid reason for our pass- 
ing an unfavorable judgment upon both. 1 

The indeterminist argument is sometimes given a special 
point by being applied to the infliction of punishment. Can 
it be right to inflict pain upon a man for his misdeeds, when 
he is considered to be the inevitable product of a combina- 
tion of previous conditions ? Is not punishment on such a 
basis simply adding one evil to another? Certainly, if 
punishment is an evil. If we are to think of punishment as 
a mere act of vengeance, it will be difficult indeed to find any 
adequate excuse for it. But if punishment is intended as 
a good to all concerned, and especially to the evil-doer him- 
self, the only excuse it needs is its efficacy. Why, because 
circumstances have joined together to make a wicked man, 
shall we not try to make him a better man? 

Dependence of Responsibility upon Determinism. — 
If the argument for the dependence of responsibility on 
indeterminism is thus unconvincing, there are, on the other 
hand, reasons for holding that responsibility is dependent 
on determinism. For responsibility, as we have seen, de- 
pends on the continuity of character ; and this can only be 
observed in so far as conduct is uniform and hence predict- 
able. A good man must be more likely to do right than a 
bad man ; and if the latter has this probability against him, 

1 The argument is often connected with the religious belief in a personal 
God and in everlasting punishment. If God, who is himself a moral agent, 
is the ultimate cause of all that we are, is not he, rather than ourselves, 
responsible for our sins ? And how, then, shall he be justified in damning 
us ? The only answer to the former question is that he certainly is respon- 
sible, though the possibility lies open that the creation of sinful man may 
be part of a larger purpose (not wholly comprehensible to us) which fully 
justifies it. To the second question it must be replied that everlasting pun- 
ishment, if it be a truth, is one which no one has succeeded in justifying upon 
any grounds whatsoever. The dogma is based, of course, upon a retributive 
conception of punishment. 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 55 

it is hard to see how his act can be regarded as a fresh crea- 
tion, undetermined by previous circumstances. Moreover, 
we can say that indeterminism, by making conduct unpre- 
dictable, makes moral praise and blame ineffectual and moral 
education impossible. In particular, the practice of punish- 
ment is made ridiculous — for what else can the infliction 
of pain be expected to accomplish, if it cannot help to deter- 
mine the culprit's future conduct ? 

If it is suggested that perhaps volition is partly deter- 
mined and partly undetermined, we may reply that in that 
case it remains true that it is only by reason of the degree of 
determination that exists that responsibility or moral educa- 
tion is possible, or that punishment is justifiable. 

The Kantian Theory. — In this connection we may men- 
tion Kant's famous argument to prove that to acknowledge a 
moral obligation implies the assumption that man must be 
absolutely free to do what is right. Moral obligation (he 
said) is conceived to be absolute and unconditional ; it means 
that we ought to act in a certain way, in obedience to a 
moral law, regardless of circumstances. But we are never 
under obligation to do the impossible. Now all our natural 
motives (i.e. those that are causally determined) vary with 
circumstances; hence if all our motives are causally deter- 
mined, there may be circumstances under which we cannot 
do right, and hence are without moral obligation; which is 
absurd. Therefore there must be a distinctive moral mo- 
tive which is wholly supernatural and undetermined; and 
this Kant identifies as reverence for the moral law. The 
weakness of the argument lies in the initial assumption that 
moral obligation is to follow certain rules regardless of cir- 
cumstances. Kant himself reduced this to an absurdity 
when he declared, " that to tell a falsehood to a murderer 
who asked us whether our friend, of whom he was in 
pursuit, had not taken refuge in our house, would be a 
crime." The question is too far-reaching for us to discuss 



56 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

here ; but we shall elsewhere give reasons for holding that 
moral laws are by no means so rigid and invariable as 
Kant supposed. 

III. Further Arguments for Indeterminism 

We may now be interested in examining some other con- 
siderations that have been urged in favor of indeterminism 
or of determinism. 

1. The Intuition of Freedom. — Beginning with the former, 
we have first to note, not an argument, but an assertion, 
that we have a direct (intuitive) consciousness of our free- 
dom. It is safe to say that the main basis for this assertion 
is (1) our not being fully conscious of the causes of our acts. 
It is an appeal to ignorance. Mental phenomena are very 
complicated, if not in themselves, at any rate in their pre- 
conditions, conscious and unconscious ; and it is easy for a 
man to overlook even important factors in the forming of 
his decisions. Add to this (2) our consciousness, based 
upon experience, that we can do a great many things when 
we so desire and are not forcibly restrained. We are very 
chary nowadays of trusting in alleged intuitive knowledge, 
for it is fatally easy to claim and (when it is disputed) fatally 
hard to validate; and the intuition of indeterminism has 
the least claim to respect of any. 

2. Change of Choice. — In popular discussion it is some- 
times urged that a man can prove his freedom by " doing 
it over again the other way." A certain choice has been 
taken ; the conditions are repeated ; and now, to prove his 
point, the man does differently. The reply is, of course, 
that the similarity of external conditions does not necessarily 
imply that the motives are the same ; and in this case we 
can even lay our finger upon one important new motive: 
the man's desire to prove his point. 

3. The Destruction of Effort — Fatalism. — If determinism 
were accepted as true, would it not destroy all effort ? And 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 57 

if , as a matter of fact, determinists have not been especially 
inert beings, does not this prove that they did not really 
believe in their doctrine? If we believe that everything in 
the universe is completely predetermined, how can we intelli- 
gently try to accomplish anything ? And if, on the contrary, 
we do constantly frame ends and endeavor to accomplish 
them, does not this prove that in our hearts we believe in 
our own freedom ? 

Before directly replying to these questions, it will be well 
for us to note the difference between determinism and fatal- 
ism. Fatalism is the belief that certain events — especially 
death — are bound to occur in a certain way (or to occur 
at a certain time) no matter what the previous conditions 
are. Thus a woman believed that she was fated to be 
drowned at sea ; and when a steamer in which she had taken 
passage was wrecked, she refused to enter a life-boat, be- 
cause, as she said, she would only bring disaster to the others 
in the boat. A Filipino quack doctor made the most ex- 
travagant claims with regard to his healing powers. When 
a number of his patients died, he was not in the least dis- 
concerted. He had been perfectly able to cure them, he 
said, but their time had come — as, indeed, the fact of their 
death proved. And when a man's time has come to die, 
nothing can prevent it ! 

It is not difficult to see that fatalism is more closely allied 
to indeterminism than to determinism. It is a belief in 
the discontinuity of events. Determinism is a belief in 
their complete continuity : that nothing ever happens except 
as an outgrowth of previous conditions. 

Now fatalism does sometimes produce a sort of apathy. 
When a man believes that all the important issues of life 
are fixed in advance, in such a fashion that nothing that he 
can do can have the least influence upon the result, it is 
only natural that he should not feel very energetic. Some- 
times, we may add, fatalism produces an opposite effect, 



58 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

especially when it attaches only to the issue of life and death. 
The Turkish soldier, for example, who believes that the 
day of his death is appointed, fights with an extraordinary 
abandon. If his time has come, no cowardice will save him ; 
and if it has not come, no danger can be fatal to him. 

But there is nothing in determinism to produce either the 
one effect or the other — either indifference or desperation. 
The determinist believes that his impulses are efficient causes 
by which the future course of events must in part be shaped. 
Why, then, should he cease to feel? He believes that his 
efforts count for something in determining his happiness or 
unhappiness. Why, then, should he cease to struggle? 
There is no reason ; just as there is no reason why he should 
feel more passionately or struggle more desperately than 
the given conditions warrant. 

To be sure, a belief in determinism will not of itself awaken 
any sources of feeling in man's nature ; but, then, nobody 
has ever pretended that it did. If a man is without love 
or ambition or loyalty, determinism will not inspire them 
in him. But neither if he has them will it take them away. 

IV. Further Arguments for Determinism 

Let us now turn to the evidences that are offered in favor 
of determinism. 

1. The Intuition of Determinism. — Just as indeterminism 
has been based on an alleged intuition, so has determinism. 
It has been held that the law of cause and effect is an axiom 
self-evident to human reason. But apart from our grow- 
ing unwillingness to rely on intuitions, there are particular 
reasons why the law of cause and effect should not be put 
upon such a basis. 

The distinguishing marks of an intuition are supposed to 
be its clearness and distinctness and its universal applica- 
tion. But few maxims of science or philosophy have been 
more shifting and uncertain in their meaning than this; 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 59 

and none have been more in dispute. " Nothing happens 
by chance, but all things follow from necessity," is an old 
formulation, which might be more intelligible if we were 
first told what chance is ; and yet how can chance be defined 
except as absence of causal necessity ? — a vicious circle. 
" Every event presupposes a previous event upon which it 
follows according to a universal rule," is another famous 
version, the only fault with which is that it is obviously un- 
true. One event, taken by itself, does not cause another, 
regardless of all other attendant circumstances. There are 
no separate and distinct chains of causation, but a constant 
interference. Shall we then say that the true causes and 
effects are not events but tendencies — tendencies which 
may thwart or conceal one another, but which are real none 
the less? But what is a tendency? Some men have held 
that it is nothing else than the momentum of a body moving 
in space, and that causality is simply the communication 
of motion from one body to another by impact. The dis- 
covery of the law of gravitation, which seems to imply ' ac- 
tion at a distance,' made this theory impracticable. In 
our own time many men declare that all causality is trans- 
formation of energy, and that the law of cause and effect, 
when properly stated, is nothing more or less than the law 
of the conservation of energy. But when we try to apply 
this law to the explanation of mental phenomena — e.g. the 
association of ideas — it becomes meaningless, at least so 
far as we can now see. Besides, there are men who hold 
that all causation is psychical — that the very conception 
of a cause comes to us from the operation of our own wills, 
and that the action of bodies upon each other must be in- 
terpreted after the analogy of our own conscious behavior. 
The plain truth of the matter is that ' cause • and ' effect ' 
have no single intuitively clear and distinct meanings, but 
a variety of meanings, some very clear and some very hazy, 
all held together by the fact that they are conceptions 



60 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

according to which we explain the conditions of one time 
by the conditions that have gone before. " All conditions 
prevailing at any one moment can somehow be completely 
explained from the conditions that prevailed at any previous 
moment : " such is the law of causality. 

In saying this we must not be understood to imply that 
the law of cause and effect is meaningless or useless. On 
the contrary, there is much virtue in a ' somehow/ The 
point upon which we are insisting is that the presumption 
is all against the theory that we have an intuitive knowledge 
of such a law. 

2. Determinism as a Presupposition of Science. — It is 
sometimes said that determinism is an unavoidable assump- 
tion in all scientific work. For the business of science is to 
explain; and any condition that was inexplicable would 
lie outside the limits of science. To study anything is to 
assume that it can be explained and hence is subject to the 
law of cause and effect. Furthermore, science can never 
recognize any occasion for the opposite assumption. No 
matter how long a phenomenon has seemed to contradict 
all known principles, we can still take for granted that it is 
to be explained on principles yet unknown. 

This argument has its force, but it does not prove all that 
it is sometimes supposed to prove. The fact that I try to 
explain a phenomenon does imply that I take for granted 
that the phenomenon is explicable : if I believed otherwise, 
I should not try. And the universal program of science, to 
explain anything and everything that may interest the human 
intellect, similarly rests upon the presumption that all things 
are explicable : in so far as this presumption is false, science 
is foredoomed to failure. It is an essential postulate of the 
science which acknowledges no bounds. But that hardly 
warrants us in saying that any endeavor to explain any- 
thing can only be justified on the basis of a complete 
determinism. 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 61 

3. The Progress of Science. — How far does the actual 
progress of science prove the truth of determinism? It is 
easy to reply that it does not prove it at all : that however 
far men may have succeeded in laying bare the causal con- 
nections of things they can never be warranted in a leap to 
the conclusion that causal connection is universal. But 
this is not wholly just. 

Determinism as a Regulative Principle. — A formally 
correct and sufficient proof of the principle of determinism 
cannot be derived from any evidence whatsoever. The 
world is too vast and too complicated for that. But neither 
can the principle ever be disproved by any evidence whatso- 
ever. On each side there is always the refuge of infinite 
ignorance. But just because it can never be proved or 
disproved, its significance is that of a regulative principle. 
It is not so much a matter of objective fact as of intellectual 
policy. What it declares is that we shall look for causal ex- 
planation everywhere and in all things, and never remit 
our search on the plea that this or that phenomenon may 
possibly lie outside the realm of law. 

Now when determinism is thus viewed as a regulative 
principle, the sort of proof that is necessary to establish it 
is precisely what is afforded by the progress of science. In 
ancient times the wisest men felt themselves justified in 
rejecting it. Plato and Aristotle believed in the existence 
of universal causal laws ; but they thought that in no in- 
dividual case were these laws more than approximately 
realized. In each thing or event, as they thought, there 
was an element of blind, irrational chance, which could never 
be accounted for in any way. So far as physical events are 
concerned, this notion (though disputed by the stoics) per- 
sisted down to modern times ; until it was dispelled by the 
early triumphs of inductive science, culminating in the dis- 
covery of the law of universal gravitation. It was not that 
the scientist was now ready with a complete explanation of 



62 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

anything and everything; but that the disposition of his 
mind was now to look for uniformity in all things, and to 
regard apparent chance as the manifestation of unknown 
causes. 

It is true that in relation to mental phenomena the notion 
of the uncaused still lingered. But it is almost within a 
generation that the wide and successful application of experi- 
mental, comparative, and genetic methods to psychology 
gave it its present secure place among the natural sciences. 
So that although the determinist position had its earnest 
advocates from the time of Hobbes onward, the spirit of the 
times was not definitely against indeterminism. The popu- 
lar consciousness was almost unanimous in its belief in the 
freedom of the will, and the scientific consciousness was far 
from being unitedly opposed to it. The case of Descartes (one 
of the fathers of modern thought) is typical. For the ma- 
terial universe he accepted the principle of determinism as 
intuitively certain. But the will he believed to be absolutely 
free. How both these propositions could be true together 
was, he confessed, an insuperable mystery. 

But in our own time we have become far more familiar 
with the uniformities of psychological phenomena. The 
discovery of Weber's law (of the relation between the in- 
tensity of the stimulus and the intensity of the sensation) 
marked an epoch here. The science is still young, to be 
sure; and in certain fields, such as sensation, perception, 
attention, and memory, far more has been accomplished 
than in some others, such as emotion and will. But the 
same is or has recently been true of the sciences of external 
nature. Of the vast and all-important subject of heredity, 
for example, both in the plant and in the animal world, what 
is known is but a scanty fringe upon the vast unknown. 
And as the deficiencies in our knowledge of the external 
world count to us as no argument against the universality 
of its causal laws, even so there is no reason to regard the 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 63 

actual limitations of psychology as pointing to the existence 
of any transcendent, incomprehensible factor in mental 
phenomena. 

V. Physical and Quasi-physical Determinism 

Let determinism remain altogether vague, and it has 
little difficulty in maintaining its position against all the 
assaults of indeterminism. But when it begins to specify 
the mode of determination, then the advantage is all on the 
side of indeterminism. This has been the real strength and 
animus of the free-will theory : not in its opposition to the 
conception of a universal causal necessity, but in its resist- 
ance to certain specific theories as to the way in which men's 
voluntary acts are determined. Two of these must be noted 
here. 

Physical Determinism. — In the first place, there has been 
the theory, that men's thoughts and feelings are not causes 
of events, but helpless accompaniments of them; that the 
only true causes are physical forces operating between ma- 
terial bodies. This is not simply determinism, but a physical 
determinism. Against such a view we may fairly urge (1) 
that the causal value of thoughts and feelings is as obvious 
and familiar to us as any other whatsoever. To deny this 
value is to sacrifice plain fact to a far-stretched theory that 
is founded at best upon facts that are no plainer. And, 
furthermore, (2) when we try to apply the theory to mental 
and social phenomena it vanishes into thin air. It is not 
meant to be so applied. 

The Mechanical Analogy. — In the second place, there 
is the far more important theory, which looks upon human 
motives as causes, but interprets their action after the analogy 
of mechanical causes. The favorite illustration is the l paral- 
lelogram of forces.' If a force a, acting alone for a given 
time upon the object M, would move it to P; and if the 
force b, acting alone for the same time, would move it to 



64 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Q; then the two forces, acting together, would move it to 
R, the point which with M , P, and Q marks out a parallelo- 
gram. In the special case where the two forces have the 
same direction or opposite directions, they simply add them- 
selves to each other in algebraic fashion. If they have the 
same direction, they reenf orce each other ; if they are opposed, 
the stronger triumphs, but with diminished strength. Even 
so, it is said, a man's motives push him in one direction and 
another, and his actual conduct is but the resultant of their 
united forces. In every conflict the strongest motive pre- 
vails. If the motives diverge, but are not absolutely opposed, 
the agent takes a middle course. 

This way of thinking is a fair example of the danger of 
carrying an abstraction too far. In the principle of the 
parallelogram of forces the object appears only as a point 
upon which forces external to it act. Its own nature counts 
for nothing in the supposed result. Now even in the me- 
chanical realm this is not strictly true. The object is not 
a point but has its shape, size, consistency, mass, etc. Put 
a differently formed object in its place and the result would 
be different. Moreover, the forces which act upon it are 
not so external to its nature as might be supposed. Sub- 
stitute lead for iron in a magnetic field, and the difference 
is easily seen. 

But if the abstraction is not wholly valid in its applica- 
ton to the physical world, it is much more strikingly invalid 
in its application to human conduct. A man is as far as 
possible from being a mere point; and the motives which 
actuate him are as far as possible from being external to 
his nature. To use a well-worn example, the glass of wine 
which upon one man exerts an almost irresistible attraction, 
is hateful to a second, and is taken or left by a third with 
cool indifference. It is a man's character that determines 
what things attract and what repel him ; and to leave that 
character out of account and think of the motives as a set 



RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 65 

of external mechanical forces is the very extreme of falsi- 
fication. 

Conclusion. — It is in its opposition to theories like these 
that the main significance of indeterminism has lain. In- 
deed, it is not hard to see that, at bottom, determinism and 
indeterminism have stood for very much the same thing. The 
one in opposing the superstition of chance, the other in 
insisting that man is not the helpless sport of external forces 
— both have pointed to the truth, that man's character is 
the essential cause of his acts, and that upon this causal 
relation his moral responsibility depends. 

REFERENCES 

Gizycki, G. von, Introduction to the Study of Ethics, Ch. VII. 
Locke, J., Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book II, 

Ch. XXI. 
Hume, D., Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, Sect. VIII. 
Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. 
Wundt, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. III. 
Fiske, J., Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Part II, Ch. XVII. 
Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. VII, ii. 
Alexander, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book III, Ch. Ill, ii. 
Hyslop, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. IV. 
Paulsen, F., System of Ethics, Book II, Ch. IX. 
Sidgwick, H., Methods of Ethics, Book I, Ch. V. 
Seth, J., Ethical Principles, Part III, Ch. I. 
Rashdall, H., Theory of Good and Evil, Book III, Ch. III. 
Bergson, H., Time and Free Will, especially Ch. III. 



CHAPTER V 

GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 

Classification. — Before undertaking a systematic study of 
the theories of morality, it will be well for us to take a brief 
survey of its principal varieties and phases. In the intro- 
ductory chapter we noted the existence of two sets of pred- 
icates, ' right ' and ' wrong/ and ' good ' and ' bad/ and 
called attention to the distinction between impersonal and 
personal morality which they suggest. For our present 
purpose it will be convenient to make use of a somewhat 
different classification. 

In the first place, moral values may be thought of as be- 
longing (1) first to the act and secondly to the character of 
the man who would commit such an act ; or (2) first to the 
character, and secondly to the ways of acting in which such 
a character shows itself. For example, it is wrong to steal, 
and the man who does so is a thief ; and it is good to relieve 
the needy, and he who does so is charitable. And, on the 
other hand, it is good to be brave and to be master of one's 
passions, and the deeds by which one evinces these traits 
are in so far praiseworthy. The distinction is largely a 
matter of emphasis, and the two sides shade into each other ; 
but the extremes are well marked. 

In the second place, where the moral value belongs pri- 
marily to the act, the standard by which it is judged may be 
(a) a definite set of external requirements, to which, it is 
thought, men ought simply to conform, regardless of aught 
else; or the standard may be (b) the happiness of one's 
fellow-men. 

66 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 67 



We have, then, a threefold division of moral standards 

a. Standards of Duty 
I. Standards applying 
primarily to the 
Act 



Moral 
Standards 



b. Standards of Benev- 
olence 



II. Standards applying 
primarily to the 
Agent 



Standards of Virtue 



Here I a corresponds to the impersonal morality mentioned 
above ; and I b and II correspond to the personal morality. 

It is probable that all three kinds of standards have a 
place in the morality of every people, civilized or uncivilized. 
But among some peoples one kind predominates; among 
others, another. Thus the morality of the ancient Jews 
was clearly a morality of duty, and that of the Greeks was 
quite as clearly a morality of virtue; while Christianity 
ushered in a morality in which the standards of benevolence 
have a much larger part. 

I a. Standards of Duty 
1. Instinctive and Customary Standards 

(1) Instinctive Standards. — Among the standards of 
duty, we may first consider certain standards which appear 
to have a direct instinctive source. There are some kinds 
of conduct, such as cannibalism and incest, which arouse 
in most men an instinctive loathing or even horror ; and this 
is attended with a feeling of intense moral disapproval. 

George Sand tells a story of a company of wandering actors 
shipwrecked on a barren rock in the Adriatic Sea. They 
are without food, and death by starvation is imminent. The 
captain of the vessel dies, and one of the actors throws him- 
self upon the corpse with the intention of devouring it. But 



68 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the leader of the company grapples with him, and, after a 
desperate struggle, succeeds in throwing the body into the 
sea. The subordinate actor is a man who throughout the 
narrative is everywhere represented as thoroughly contemp- 
tible ; while the leader is pictured as a noble and even heroic 
figure; and their acts upon this occasion are evidently re- 
garded by the writer as eminently in character. It might 
well be argued (from the standpoint of benevolence) that 
the one man was doing exactly what the occasion required 
— supporting his life without injury to anyone else — while 
the other was wickedly wasting a most valuable food-supply ; 
but that is not the way that George Sand expected the in- 
cident to be regarded by her public. 

Religious and Magical Sanctions. -*- If we ask ourselves 
why we regard such acts as these as wrong, the answer most 
obvious to the psychologist is that the feeling that they are 
wrong has sprung from the sense of their loathesomeness. 1 
Other reasons, however, are more often given; and certain 
of these are interesting, as showing the close connection 
between duty and benevolence. These reasons mostly fall 
under the two heads of bad magic and offended deities. In- 
cestuous love, for example, is often regarded as bringing 
a pollution upon the culprits, and through them upon their 
family and kindred, or even upon all who are in any way 
connected with them. For magical pollutions are catching 
(like infectious diseases) and a whole city or tribe may suffer 
from them. Or, as we have suggested, some deity may be 
particularly averse to incest; and he, like the infectious 
pollution, is apt to wreak his baleful spite, not only upon 
the guilty ones, but upon all their kith and kin. (Both of 

1 The reader should be on his guard against supposing that because the 
feeling of disgust or loathing is instinctive, the moral judgment or sentiment 
is likewise instinctive. The latter very probably develops out of the former, 
and in its earlier stages cannot be clearly distinguished from it. But the 
very fact that the moral nature of the feeling is the product of a psychological 
development means that it is something higher than mere instinct. 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 69 

these modes of explanation become more and more refined as 
culture advances ; but they then take on forms which belong 
elsewhere in our account.) In either case it will generally 
be said that the loathing for the sin is due to the universal 
fear of the pollution or of the divine displeasure which it 
causes. The psychologist, however, can scarcely doubt 
that the true explanation runs the other way — that the 
supposed pernicious consequences of the sin are imaginative 
products of the loathing which is naturally excites. This 
distinguishes standards of this sort from those which are 
primarily standards of benevolence. 

Crudeness of Such Morality. — Conformity to standards 
such as these is the crudest form of morality with which we 
have to deal. It shows its crudeness in many ways. Emo- 
tionally, the sense of moral condemnation is closely fused 
with the feeling of loathing or horror. Perhaps as a conse- 
quence of this, little distinction is made between intentional 
and unintentional wrong-doing. The man who unknowingly 
has eaten human flesh is like a leper even in his own eyes. 
According to the Greek story, CEdipus in all ignorance kills 
his father in self-defense, and soon after, in equal ignorance, 
marries his mother, who bears four children to him. When 
many years later the facts come to light, his horror of him- 
self is such that he puts out his own eyes. It may be added 
that the infectious pollution follows upon the involuntary 
offense just as upon the voluntary; and that the offended 
deity looks only to the external act, and cares nothing for 
the motive. On the other hand, the infection may be re- 
moved by magical devices in which repentance plays no 
part ; and the deity likewise may be bribed, by sacrificial 
offerings, to forego his vengeance. 

(2) Customary Standards. — Divided from the foregoing 
by a very uncertain line are the standards set by long-es- 
tablished custom. The commission of adultery offends 
against no human instinct. But many men feel toward it 



70 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

an aversion which is weaker, but hardly different in kind, 
from that which they feel toward incest; and their moral 
condemnation of it is very similar. So of sacrilege, of obscen- 
ity, and, among many peoples, of breaches of hospitality; 
and so also of a host of other offenses, not against instinct, 
but against custom that has become well-nigh as strong as 
instinct. Other customary standards are regarded less seri- 
ously ; so that a whole scale of offenses may be devised, rang- 
ing from the most abominable to the most trivial. 

Relation to Instinctive Standards. — We have said that 
the line between instinct and custom is uncertain. All 
customs are, of course, in the last resort outgrowths of in- 
stinct, just as all languages are outgrowths of the instinctive 
ga and boo of infancy. But because we cannot point to a 
precise time when, for example, mamma changes from a 
mere babbling to a true word, we do not therefore deny the 
reality of the change. At the same time it must be confessed 
that, as applied to the adult man, the distinction between 
instinct and custom (or habit) is merely one of degree, for 
the simple reason that scarcely any original instinct remains 
unmodified in the adult man. Thus the instinctive aversion 
to cannibalism is fostered by all manner of social influences 
— or may, on the contrary, be altogether rooted out. So 
also, while incest appears to be naturally horrible to us, there 
is nothing natural about the long lists of ' prohibited degrees ' 
which are to be found in the marriage laws of many peoples. 
As far as ethics is concerned, the sole point of importance 
here is this : that our feelings toward ' unnatural ' sins are 
apt to contain so powerful an element of sheer disgust, that 
any definitely moral sentiment is apt to be submerged, 
or at least seriously restrained in its development. For 
most purposes the standards derived from instinct and those 
derived from custom may be regarded as alike customary. 

Not All Customs are Moral Standards. — It is obvious 
that among civilized men not all customs are viewed as having 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 71 

moral significance. 1 A man who thoughtlessly wanders down- 
town without his hat is perhaps the most uncomfortable 
creature in existence; but his conscience does not prick 
him. An eccentric young college professor, whose health 
was delicate, tried the experiment of going barefoot during 
one of his summer vacations. Walking into the village 
post-office one day, he met an old lady friend, and accosted 
her. " Get out of my sight," cried the old lady, horrified. 
Yet, as she told the story, she expressed no moral condemna- 
tion of the young man's conduct. It was, to her, simply 
disgusting. 

But it should be observed, in the first place, that the line 
of separation is not clearly marked. Bad taste passes easily 
into indecency and immodesty. And, in the second place, 
among savages the line practically disappears, and it may 
be roughly said that " every custom constitutes a moral 
law." Their sense of right and wrong is in all things guided 
by the modes of conduct which have come down to them 
from their ancestors. 

Sanctions. — The iniquity of offenses against custom is 
usually conceived in much the same fashion that we have 
already noted : they bring pollution or the displeasure of 
supernatural beings. To rob or murder the unsuspecting 
guest is an infamy. It is enough to put a curse upon the 
dwelling where it was committed, from which the inhabitants 
would suffer as long as the house stood. Better, then, let 
the man depart in peace and intercept him at the first turn- 
ing of the road. He may then be seized, brought back, and 
held for ransom, or even murdered in cold blood, and no 
such evil be incurred. Petty moral offenses, of course, bring 
ill-luck or divine ill-favor in a roughly proportionate measure. 

1 Sometimes, it is true, the term 'custom' is used in a narrow sense, so as 
to include only such traditional modes of behavior as are felt to be morally 
required. (The German Sitte and the French moeurs are regularly so used.) 
In that case ' customary morality ' is tautologous : ' custom ' alone expresses 
the whole idea. 



"r 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 73 

It is inevitable, then, that the reflection should occur, 
that right and wrong, just and unjust, honorable and dis- 
honorable, are only other names for customary and contrary 
to custom; the custom itself being explained as due to a 
more or less arbitrary convention. What tends especially 
to the formation of this conception is the knowledge of other 
men with other customs and likewise other moral standards. 
As commerce increases, and diplomatic intercourse likewise 
extends, the most diverse traditions are brought into sudden 
and striking contrast. The first result is a mutual contempt ; 
the next a species of external toleration — as when a people 
are willing to admit that polygamy may be all very well 
for their neighbors, but would condemn to death or exile 
the man who attempted it among themselves. It is at this 
stage of affairs that the custom-conception is most apt to 
become prominent ; and it may help to bring on a fur- 
ther stage, the breakdown of morality. For the convention 
might have been otherwise. One custom, when you are used 
to it, is, it is felt, as good as another. The distinction be- 
tween right and wrong is thus illusory; it has no real basis 
in permanent facts ; and the man of sense will disregard it 
as often as his convenience requires. 

2. Personal Authority 

Distinction between Personal Authority and Law. — 
Among uncivilized men there is no one who is looked upon 
as authorized to change a custom or modify a moral require- 
ment. There is no legislative power. The mightiest chief 
holds his authority subject to time-honored traditions. 
When, in exceptional instances, social reforms are carried 
through, the leaders usually claim that they are simply 
restoring an ancient custom which has fallen into disuse, 
or that they are acting as the mouthpiece of an interested 
deity. 

There are, however, persons who have the right to direct 



74 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

their fellows in matters which custom has left undetermined. 
They have, we repeat, no legislative power; but they can 
issue commands and injunctions which it is the duty of the 
others to obey. Why are these not laws? In the first 
place, because, as a rule, they are not general in their appli- 
cation, as laws are, but are addressed to particular men on 
a particular occasion. And, in the second place, because, 
even when they reach beyond the particular occasion, they 
express merely the ruler's will ; and when he is dead or de- 
prived of power they lapse at once. 

Analogous to the commands of the chieftain are the com- 
mands of the parent, the husband, the master. It is the 
recognized duty of the child, the wife, the slave, to obey — 
not because the things commanded were in themselves 
obligatory, or because the things forbidden were in themselves 
wrong, but simply because he who is in authority has so 
ordered. The child, for example, who has been forbidden 
by his mother to eat a certain kind of fruit, begs for permis- 
sion to do so ; and if the permission is granted, he eats the 
fruit without a twinge of conscience. 

Relation to Custom. — There is no clear line of distinction 
between this morality of obedience to authority, and the 
morality (above treated) of compliance with custom. The 
persons who are obeyed are those to whom customary morality 
gives the right to command. Sometimes on the surface this 
does not appear to be the case. The chief, let us say, has 
won his place by killing his predecessor. The husband has 
tamed his wife with a club. And the slaves and children 
know what to expect if they are caught in any disobedience. 
But it will generally be found that the force of custom is 
the real determining factor in the matter. Men may submit 
to a usurping chief out of mere fear, without feeling that he 
has any rightful claim upon them, and while eagerly await- 
ing the opportunity of casting off his yoke. And the like 
may be true of the other relations which we have mentioned. 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 75 

But such a state of affairs does not constitute the recognition 
of authority, of a right to rule and a duty to obey. And this, 
we say, is what force alone does not produce. Again, there 
is such a thing as personal ascendancy, by which one man, 
without the use or display of force, imposes his will upon 
those about him. But this is far from constituting authority. 
It frequently happens that those who obey most slavishly 
are in a state of constant resentment against the personal 
influence which they cannot throw off. They are as far 
as possible from recognizing obedience as a duty. And 
even where there is no resentment, the sense of duty may be 
entirely absent. The personal ascendancy of the wife, for 
example, may keep her husband in complete subjection, 
without either of them having the least notion that it is his 
duty to obey her. 

The force of custom, we repeat, is a necessary factor in 
the constitution of authority. Where, for example, the 
chief has won his place by force, it will be found, perhaps, 
that the traditional sentiment of the people is that the strong- 
est men should rule. By this we do not mean simply that 
as a matter of fact the strongest man generally does rule, 
but that custom requires that he shall rule and makes it 
wrong to resist him. Where the custom is different — where, 
for example, the oldest men are the rightful rulers — the 
strong man who laid hands upon his honored chief would 
be an object of universal detestation, and his rule would in 
all probability be short. Or, again, the usurper may es- 
tablish himself in power by seizing the traditional symbols 
of authority, the chief's club or ring or robe or scepter; or 
he may be initiated into his office by the rites and ceremonies 
which tradition requires. 

Again, when the husband beats his young wife into sub- 
mission, why does she not kill him as he sleeps and make 
her escape to her own people? Because she and they alike 
believe that he has the right to beat her. She expects to be 



76 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

beaten; and having been beaten, she loves him none the 
less for it. And he too feels that he has a right to command 
and to require obedience. The use of force is simply a means 
by which the tradition is maintained. 

Much the same may be said of the part which personal 
ascendancy plays. It is almost indispensable to the success- 
ful ruler. And, on the other hand, the possession of tradi- 
tional authority is in itself an important source of personal 
ascendancy. The office gives weight to the man. He feels 
his own dignity; and the added self-importance makes 
itself felt in his bearing, and that tends to induce a suitable 
attitude in others. In any case, as we have said, personal 
ascendancy does not amount to authority. But it is one of 
the most potent means by which such authority as tradi- 
tion sanctions is acquired and maintained. 

Divine Authority. — An especially interesting and signifi- 
cant example of authority is that of a god. It illustrates 
in striking fashion the principles which we have just con- 
sidered. The primitive gods have no legislative function. 
They do not alter customary standards — even where they 
are regarded as the protectors of those standards. A god, 
for example, is angered by inhospitality, and vents his anger 
upon the offender and his household. But no one imagines 
that he might have bidden men be inhospitable, and then 
have been angered by hospitality. However, the gods do 
issue commands, and it is (generally speaking) the duty of 
men to obey. 1 Why? The answer is analogous to the 
answer in the case of human authority. They are wiser 
than we, and stronger, and the wise and strong ought to 

1 The boundary-line between mere authority and legislative power is, of 
course, much more tenuous in the case of a god than in that of a human chief 
or assembly. For he is immortal and exceedingly wise and powerful ; so 
that there is no set term to his commands, such as death or infirmity sets 
to those of human chiefs. It is because of this fact that early law-makers 
so often claim to be speaking for a deity. The divine authority serves as a 
bridge between human authority and legislation. 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 77 

rule. We are their property, and the masters ought to rule. 
We are their creatures, and the makers (like parents) ought to 
rule. Or, again, we are their creatures ; and, as a man, per- 
sonifying the work of his hands, expects it to serve his pur- 
poses, so the gods have a right to expect us to serve their 
purposes. Aside from the analogy of human authority, a 
man owes a god no obedience; though he may, indeed, stand 
in awe of him and obey his behests for that reason, just as 
he might be cowed into obedience to a man whose authority 
he did not acknowledge. 

3. The Authority of Law 

Logically, then, the duty of obedience to personal authority 
is simply a particular case of the duty of conformity to 
a customary standard. 1 And yet it was necessary to 
give a distinct account of it, for the reason that the par- 
ticular case sometimes develops so as to cover the whole 
field. 

The Legislature. — As we have said, authority is at first 
limited, as well as supported, by custom. There is no 
authority to change a customary standard. With the rise 
of states this limitation begins to disappear, or at least to 
recede. For a state possesses a legislature; 2 and though 
this legislature, too, in the last resort, owes its authority to 
custom, yet it comes to have in a larger and larger measure 
the power to change customs — even those customs to which 

1 The question may be asked, whether, in the case of obedience to parents, 
the authority may not be due to instinct rather than to custom. The 
answer very decisively is that there is no instinct of obedience. Little 
children have to learn to obey. It is true that they have a very high degree 
of suggestibility; and this is of good service in teaching them obedience. 
But unfortunately their suggestibility is often largely negative. Telling a 
child, or even hinting to a child, to do one thing is very apt to make it wish 
to do just the opposite. 

2 It should be observed that, as the term is here used, the legislature may 
consist of one man, or of a limited assembly, or of the whole body of citizens. 
The legislature is that man or body of men which can make laws. 



78 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

in earlier times the strongest moral sentiments have attached. 
Thus laws are passed affecting the marriage-relation and 
the avenging of family wrongs. 1 To be sure, there are 
always limits io this power, in customary standards which 
are too strongly intrenched for any legislature to dare attack. 
But, especially where the legislature consists of the whole 
body of citizens, this limitation is for the most part unfelt, 
for the simple reason that no large part of the assembly 
is likely to wish io legislate against their deepest moral 
convictions. To act wrongly under great temptation is 
human, and states as well as individuals do so. But 
deliberately to authorize what is universally felt to be 
wrong-doing, or deliberately to forbid what the common 
moral sentiment requires, is another and far more serious 
thing; and legislatures seldom desire to do it. Thus, we 
repeat, the limit to the legislative power is unfelt; and 
more and more in the mind of the people the distinction 
between right and wrong comes to be merged with the 
distinction between what the law of the land permits and 
what it forbids. 

Natural and Divine Law. — But the two distinctions 
never entirely coalesce. In the first place, there are moral 
standards of which the state takes no account — often by 
reason of their pettiness. And, besides, there are moral 
standards by which the legislator, in the very act of changing 
the law of the land, feels himself bound. Men in general 
are ' just ' or ' unjust ' according as they obey or disobey 
the laws. But the laws themselves are appraised as ' just ' 
or ■ unjust ' laws — evidently with reference to some higher 
standard. Again, the laws of the land, much as they may 

1 The state of Now York permits the marriage of uncle and nieee, or aunt 
and nephew. Not many such marriages are performed — custom is too 
strongly against it. But where they are performed, public indignation 
against the act is very slight. The provision of the law is accepted as a 
moral justification. 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 79 

change, preserve a certain likeness. Never, for example, 
is murder, theft, or adultery freely permitted. And, simi- 
larly, as the laws of different states are compared and their 
specific differences are noted, their larger similarities also 
come into view ; and in a more or less vague way it is recog- 
nized that some things are unlawful the whole world over, 
while others are lawful in one place and unlawful in another. 
In these ways arises the notion of a natural law, universal 
and changeless; and because there can be no law without 
a legislator, and the natural laws have the support of the 
most ancient religious sanctions, they are inevitably regarded 
as divine laws. 

The divine law easily embraces the whole of morality — 
if one leaves out of account the general duty to obey the 
divine law itself, which must, of course, rest upon some other 
basis. But this exception is easily overlooked; and it 
is not at all uncommon for men to regard all morality as 
consisting in obedience to the arbitrary will of the gods. 
(By ' arbitrary ' I mean that it is supposed, not that 
the gods forbid murder because it is wrong, but that 
murder is wrong simply and solely because they forbid 
it.) Mere custom is not thought of as establishing a 
moral standard. Where the custom has not been divinely 
ordained, it is at best indifferent, and is only too apt to 
be a serious corruption of the right and proper manner 
of life. 

The Moral Law Hypostatized. — In conclusion, we must 
note that sometimes the notion of a legislator falls into 
abeyance, and the moral law is looked upon as having, so 
to speak, an existence in itself. It is hypostatized — an 
eternal law without a law-giver. God himself is subject 
to it, although, since he is absolutely good, it is no con- 
straint upon him. To say that God is just would have no 
meaning, if conformity to the eternal law were not his duty 
as it is ours. 



80 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

16. The Standards of Benevolence 
1. Ideality of Benevolence and Virtue 

Benevolence and Virtue set no Definite Exactions. — The 
moral values which we have yet to consider differ from the 
foregoing in one most striking respect. Their standards 
are ideal. An imperative of duty must be fairly clear and 
explicit — as doubt increases, duty fades away — and it 
must not be impossible of complete fulfillment. But the 
standards of benevolence, and still more the standards of 
virtue, or self-development (which we are to take up last), 
are not capable of exact statement. Their spirit may be set 
forth in words, and has in fact found its expression in prov- 
erbs that are among the most precious heritages of the 
race; such, for example, as the old priestly maxim, which 
Jesus regarded as almost the finest in the Mosaic writings : 
" Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." But you must 
not ask for definitions of terms. If you do, the only answer 
is a story. That is because the morality of benevolence (for 
example) does not exact any definite course of conduct. It 
does not exact anything. Whatever is felt as an exaction is 
duty. But, on the other hand, it sets no bounds to the gift 
of love — except an absolute self-surrender. So also the 
morality of virtue exacts nothing ; but it sets no bounds to 
human aspiration — except the perfection of the all-wise 
and all-powerful God. Accordingly, the question of pos- 
sibility does not arise. Moral valuation is here the measur- 
ing of the actual by the ideal. 

Measurement by an Ideal need not be Condemnation. — 
It must not be supposed that the valuation is necessarily 
negative, as if in the light of the ideal all things were to be 
condemned. That is a position which is sometimes taken 
by men of a juristic frame of mind, who have become con- 
scious of the infinitude of the standards of love and perfection. 
Such men interpret these as infinite duties; and since they 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 81 

find no one who fulfills such duties, they pronounce all men 
(themselves, of course, included) to be utterly and altogether 
vile. But this is to mistake the nature of the ideal ; just as 
it would be mistaking the nature of ideal beauty to declare 
that every flower that blows is utterly and altogether ugly. 
Ideals are realized in things ; realized, to be sure, in varying 
degrees, but not less truly realized for that. Just as there is 
beauty in the common flower, so there is kindness in the 
common man. So far from implying universal condemna- 
tion, the judgment by an ideal standard tends rather to lead 
to an enlargement of sympathetic appreciation. The best 
judge is he who sees what good there is in everything. Not 
that disapproval is done away with. But the more it is 
reflective, the more it is qualified, just as approval is qualified. 
Doing More than One's Duty. — The ideal standards of 
benevolence and virtue stand in a peculiar relation to certain 
of the standards of duty; and it is this that has given rise 
to the old dispute, whether a man can do more than his duty. 
There are certain degrees of kindness and loyalty, courage 
and good sense, which we expect from men; and there are 
common manifestations of these qualities that we regard as 
a normal and reasonable requirement. They are distinctly 
duties. This is the case, for example, in the relations of 
father and child. It is the recognized duty of the father to 
provide for the support of the child ; and the latter has his 
reciprocal duties. So long as the conduct remains at this 
level the ideal standards of benevolence are not applied ; or, 
if they are applied, the judgment is one of indifference, or of 
very mild approval. To earn money with which to buy 
bread and shoes for one's children is ' simply doing one's 
duty.' But beyond the limits of all such duty there is an 
unmeasured scope for loving care that cannot be reduced 
to duty, and does not need to be. It is not felt as duty 
by the man himself. It is not looked upon as duty by 
others. The morality is of another, freer type. On the 



82 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

other hand, the neglect of parental duties is a form of cruelty. 
Thus arises the peculiar relation to which reference has been 
made. The 'performance of duty (as thus conceived) coin- 
cides with the indifference-point between kindness and cruelty. 
The like might be said of the relation of duty to courage and 
cowardice, or to wisdom and folly. To do merely one's duty 

— to do merely what any set of external standards require 

— is to fail to interest the idealizing conscience at all. 

In answer, then, to the old query, whether a man can do 
more than his duty, we may say : No, so long as it is a ques- 
tion of duty. A man can do more than his duty, only when 
the question behind his conduct is such as this : What is 
best for my child, my friend, my country? or, How shall I 
be true to my manhood ? 

2. Benevolence in General 

Grades of Benevolence. — Happiness, or unhappiness, 
the value of a condition of life considered as a whole, contains 
many factors of varying complexity. To try to make a man 
happy may be to devote oneself to his amusement, to assist 
him in his business, to improve his taste, to convert him to 
the true religion, or — any one of a thousand things. What- 
ever goods there are in human life, it is morally right and 
good to help our fellow-men acquire them. The morality, 
therefore, is of many grades, according to the kind of good 
which is in question. We need not attempt a classification 
here. Perhaps a satisfactory classification would be beyond 
our powers. Lowest of all, no doubt, is the imparting of an 
idle pleasure. Highest of all we would surely rank the en- 
deavor to make men morally better. 

Flexibility of the Standards of Benevolence. — Whereas 
the standards of duty are hard and fast prescriptions, chang- 
ing, to be sure, but always resisting change, the standards 
of benevolence are adaptability itself. Duty looks above 
and beyond the particular case; benevolence is immersed 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 83 

in it. It is for this reason that they supplement each other 
so admirably. But they sometimes conflict. The shoe- 
maker-saint, who stole leather that he might make shoes 
for the poor, is a familiar illustration ; and our experience is 
filled with similar temptations. " To do a great right do a 
little wrong," is the constant plea. Many excellent men have 
held that on such an occasion duty ought always to have the 
preference. Formally they are right, of course; for it is 
mere tautology to say that a man ' ought always to do his 
duty.' But when it comes to actual practice the common 
sense of humanity is against them. Summum jus, summa 
injuria. The particular circumstances cannot be utterly 
ignored. Why this is true, and how far it is true, we shall 
try to determine hereafter. 

The Direction of Benevolence set by Duty. — One im- 
portant relation between duty and benevolence is this : that, 
for the most part, duty fixes the general limits within which 
benevolence is exerted. A man seldom or never stands in a 
perfectly uniform relation to all those by whom he is sur- 
rounded. There are some whose happiness is of especial 
concern to him ; and this is wholly proper. If he treats his 
own son and his neighbor's son alike, he is probably not 
treating either rightly. In other words, there are duties of 
benevolence. These do not exhaust the life of kindness, but 
they do give it its general direction. If dutifulness without 
benevolence is hard, benevolence divorced from a sense of 
duty is weak and unmanly. It does not even command 
gratitude from those who receive its benefits, much less the 
approval of disinterested observers. 

3. The Objects of Benevolence 
(1) Benevolence to Individuals 
Benevolence is extended primarily to individuals, and in 
normal characters it never wholly loses this primitive per- 
sonal touch. It shows itself in acts of kindness in which 



84 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the happiness of particular persons is the only object in 
view. 

Biological Significance. — Man is a social animal ; and 
there is a strong tendency in him to sympathetic feelings of 
joy and sorrow; and with these sympathetic feelings are 
connected the impulse to relieve distress and impart pleasure. 
But man's life, even among the lowest savages, is almost 
everywhere far more social than that for which organic 
evolution has fitted him — as we may infer from the study 
of his nearest relatives among the apes — and the course 
of civilization has generally tended to bring him into larger 
and more complex relations with his fellows. This has in- 
volved a constantly increasing exercise of sympathy. There 
is no reason to think that in this development man's inborn 
sympathetic tendency has become stronger, any more than 
his eyesight or his hearing. How, then, has its operation 
been so greatly increased ? In the first place, the establish- 
ment of any sort of lasting relation between man and man 
helps them to imagine each other's case, and is thus a fa- 
vorable condition for sympathetic emotion. In the second 
place, an important factor in the result has been morality. 
Moral approval and disapproval have reenforced natural 
sympathy and helped it to subdue opposing influences. 
Some ethicists would say that this is the chief function of 
morality ; it is at any rate a very important function. 

Relation of Benevolence to Love. — It has just been said 
that any sort of lasting relation between men tends to facil- 
itate sympathy. This is seen in the members of the family, 
the community, the state, and all manner of voluntary as- 
sociations. Especially favorable to sympathy is the very 
complex group of sentiments to which the name ' love,' in 
one of its uses, is attached. All this is recognized in our 
moral standards. Love makes sacrifices praiseworthy, 
which without it would be folly ; and it makes reservations 
ignoble, which without it would be most proper. Love is 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 85 

not morality. It may even be markedly vicious. But love 
and morality are close coadjutors ; and one of the best 
fruits of morality is the capacity for strong and enduring 
love. 

(2) Devotion to an Institution 

Benevolence Universalized. — Though benevolence begins 
with the individual, it does not stop there. It universalizes 
itself in two ways : first, as devotion to an institution ; and, 
secondly, as devotion to a cause. These two forms of benev- 
olence are not always easily distinguishable from each 
other; as when an institution stands for a single definite 
cause. There is a difference, however. Vassar and Wellesley 
colleges are both institutions for the higher education of 
women ; yet one may love the one and despise the other. 
Often, too, an institution has many aims, and yet keeps its 
individuality in the prosecution of them all. A family and a 
community are institutions of this kind ; and so also is that 
supreme institution, a nation-state. To love one's country 
includes an interest in a thousand causes. 

Preference of the Wider Institution. — It is generally 
felt that as institutions increase in magnitude, devotion to 
them increases in moral value. The community, for ex- 
ample, is more than the family, and the state is more than 
the community, and they should be preferred one to another 
accordingly. Some moralists have exalted this into a uni- 
versal moral rule ; but in that form it will not hold. The 
narrower institution has its claims upon our goodwill even 
as against the broader, as our common moral standards recog- 
nize. The well-known French law, which exempts from 
military service a widow's only son, may serve to illustrate 
this point. 

So also the individual has his claims upon us, as against 
institutions of every grade. Sometimes devotion to an 
institution hardens a man's heart against particular individ- 
uals. A patriot may be led by his patriotism to be a ruth- 



86 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

less oppressor of the poor. But though such men may be 
pardonable we certainly have no great admiration for them. 
Devotion to Humanity. — There is an institution in the 
making which is wider than the state : humanity. By 
' humanity ' we do not mean simply all men, but all men as 
organized in some fashion into a real whole which can claim 
our allegiance. In many ways this organization is going 
forward : through the improvement of the means of com- 
munication, the extension of travel and commerce and dip- 
lomatic intercourse, the growth of unions, the universal 
news-service, the international circulation of the master- 
pieces of literature, music, and painting. It means much, 
when, for example, funds can be raised in America for edu- 
cational institutions in Turkey or India. In some minds, 
at least, the conception of a common good of the human 
race is growing up, and is inspiring a benevolence of the 
noblest order. 

(3) Devotion to a Cause 

Very similar remarks may be made with reference to the 
other form of universalized benevolence : devotion to a 
cause. There are causes which affect the welfare of great 
numbers of men : civil liberty, popular education, the equali- 
zation of wealth or opportunity, prohibition, etc. Such a 
cause may very largely absorb a man's benevolence. In- 
stead of feeling for the separate individuals as such, he masses 
them under general conceptions. When the individuals' 
own private joys and sorrows do come into the account, it is 
as significant illustrations of widespread conditions. 

As compared with the more primitive personal benevo- 
lence, the devotion to a cause has both its advantages and 
its disadvantages, and both are sufficiently obvious. It is, 
so to speak, longer and narrower in its scope. Ordinarily 
we regard it as the higher, nobler form ; but when, as some- 
times happens, it results in a hardening of the heart to im- 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 87 

mediate influences, we attribute much less merit to it. Nay, 
in extreme cases, it may even be regarded as a vice. The 
physician who, in the cause of human health, experiments 
upon the bodies of his helpless and confiding patients, is 
looked upon rather as a monster than as a benefactor of the 
race. If we are to be fair, however, we must remember that 
in a very similar way an absorbing love for a few persons 
may make one insensible to the needs of others. " None 
so selfish as the father of a family.' ' And ordinarily it is 
well that this is so. If men did not love narrowly and in- 
tensely, and did not become absorbed in single, definite aims, 
the world would be much the poorer in consequence. 

(4) Devotion to a Representative 

Personal Loyalty. — There is a peculiar type of benevo- 
lence which unites in itself the characteristics of individual 
and collective benevolence, and which historically has often 
marked the development of the latter from the former. It 
is devotion to the representative of an institution or a cause. 
In the person of the representative, the values of the complex 
institution or abstract cause are embodied in the most vivid 
and moving form. For illustration we need think only of 
the power which loyalty to a king or chief has been in the 
world. 

The Love of a God. — The place which the love of a god 
has had in the moral life is similar. A god may be loved as 
the god of one's fathers, the god of one's country, the god of 
one's salvation, the god of humanity — generally speaking, 
the institution which seems to be of supreme value in life. 
He is not loved from personal acquaintance. To be sure, a 
certain notion of his character is spread abroad among the 
people — much like the legendary character which a mon- 
arch is given in the popular consciousness — and this awakens 
an enthusiasm of loyalty. But this notion itself obviously 
arises from the cause or institution for which the god stands. 



88 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The God of Humanity. — By Christians the love of God 
has generally been regarded as the supreme form of benev- 
olence. Among free-thinking moralists the love of human- 
ity is generally accorded the highest place. The difference 
is not without its importance ; but this is less than might be 
supposed. For the God of Christianity is a God of humanity. 
He represents all of the highest interests of mankind, as the 
believers understand them. For them, to love God and to 
love humanity are inseparable. 

We have again to observe here what we have observed 
before : that the higher without the lower is held of little 
account, or its genuineness is denied. " How shall ye love 
God whom ye have not seen, if ye love not your brother whom 
ye have seen?" The higher benevolence is an outgrowth 
from the lower ; and when the lower dies, the higher cannot 
maintain its vigor and purity. 

II. The Standards of Virtue 
1. The Kinds of Virtue 

We have considered morality as conformity to a given 
external standard, and as devotion to another's welfare. 
We have now to consider the immediate value of moral 
character in itself, or virtue. 

Further Classification. — Virtue is of two kinds. The 
first kind, comprising justice and love (or charity), simply 
repeats the standards of duty and benevolence, looked at, how- 
ever, from a different point of view. The fulfillment of 
duty, for example, is no longer regarded as the mere satis- 
faction of a foreign demand. It is a pride and a pleasure. 
" His delight is in the law of the Lord." And similarly of 
the fulfillment of specific duties. Honesty, veracity, chas- 
tity, are viewed as treasures of the soul, of incalculable value 
to the possessor, and beautiful in the eyes of the beholder. 
So, too, of the various forms of benevolence. These are not 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 89 

a mere robbing of the self to make others rich ; they are riches 
in themselves. 

The other kind of virtue (with which we shall here be more 
particularly concerned) consists of certain qualities of mind 
which, in some degree, are necessary to all morality — quali- 
ties without which one cannot be consistently honest or 
chaste or obedient, or kind or loyal. Thus they present, as 
it were, a cross-division of morality. These qualities are 
comprised under the general heads of courage, temperance, and 
wisdom. 

(1) Courage 

Definition. — By ' courage/ as the term is here used, is 
not meant fearlessness, whether due to impassivity, ignorance 
of danger, confidence in one's own strength or skill, or natural 
buoyancy of spirits. The brave man may be fearless, but he 
may also be nervous, cautious, self-distrustful, and pessimis- 
tic. The more fear a man feels, the more need he has for 
courage. Courage is the strength of determination that 
cannot be moved from its course by pain or fear. 

Kinds of Courage. — Courage is said to be of various 
kinds according to the sort of pain or danger which it resists. 
Some men will face physical injury without hesitation, who 
cannot bear the thought of disgrace. Some, whom no threats 
against themselves can move, are made cowards when wife 
or child is concerned. There are limits, no doubt, to every 
man's endurance; and the nearer limits are in different 
directions for different men. 

But of far greater importance for ethics is the difference in 
the quality of courage due to difference in the motives by 
which the resistance to pain or danger is inspired. Lowest 
in the scale are the instincts of self-preservation. A cornered 
rat will fight ; and a human coward in a corner may look very 
much like a hero. A man may also be brave for gain or 
glory ; the latter motive being considered much the nobler. 
But the moral courage, which alone is essentially good, is 



90 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

inspired by the sense of duty, or by benevolence, or by an 
ideal of character. 

In What Sense Courage is a Virtue. — The difficulty has 
often been raised, that courage cannot be a virtue, because it 
can be displayed by the worst of men in the most vicious 
pursuits. But the objection is unsound. For courage is a 
virtue, not in the sense that whoever has it is morally good, 
or that whatever is done with it is morally right, but in the 
sense that it is a necessary quality of the good man, and that 
on countless occasions a man cannot, unless he is brave, do 
what is just or kind. Not every villain is a coward, — not 
by any means, — but every coward is a villain. Without 
moral courage, no high degree of justice or benevolence is 
possible. 

Is Moral Courage Sufficient ? — The question may be 
asked, whether a man who possessed moral courage and 
was a coward in all other respects could be called a brave 
and good man. At first sight the question appears to be a 
fair one ; but as a matter of fact it is of a kind to which a 
direct answer cannot be given. It is much as if one should 
ask whether, if a man's moral nature were separated bodily 
from the rest of his character and given to another man, it 
would still retain its old significance and value. We could 
only answer yes and no at once. For this condition is an 
inconceivable one. Character is not divided into distinct 
sections ; and in particular the moral character (as we shall 
hereafter see) is most intimately connected with all the other 
sides of man's complex nature. A man is not born morally 
good ; he becomes so only through a process of educational 
development. And it is not to be thought that up to a 
certain point in that development he shows no power of self- 
control in the presence of danger, and then instantly exhibits 
such power in a high degree. No, a man who is distinguished 
by courage of the moral type is bound to be a brave man 
generally — not in all things, for we all have our weaknesses, 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 91 

but for the most part. This is why, although only moral 
courage is essentially good, no one in his ideal of virtue fails 
to include non-moral courage also. 

The Primitive Conception of Courage. — In fact, among 
peoples of a low degree of culture, no distinction between 
moral courage and the lower grades of courage is formed. 
Courage with them means, of course, preeminently courage 
in war, where a man exposes his life for the safety or glory of 
his clan; and no effort is made to distinguish whether this 
is due, say, to self-confidence in superior strength or skill, to 
an overmastering desire for glory, or to patriotic devotion. 
And so what appears to be the same quality, when exhibited 
in a private quarrel or even in an act of treason, is still virtue 
and is admired as such. Furthermore, even the physical 
qualities of bulk and strength are not definitely set off from 
the mental quality of courage, as if the latter were a moral 
excellence and the former not. The physical and moral 
qualities are ranked together. Strength and courage make a 
valuable man, just as (we may add) beauty and industry 
make a valuable woman. The case is thus much the same 
as we found with respect to certain customary standards of 
duty. The moral sentiment is not clearly differentiated from 
feelings and sentiments of a lower order. 

(2) Temperance 

Definition. — As courage is strength of determination in 
the face of threatening pains, so temperance is strength of 
determination in the face of inviting pleasures. It does not 
mean insensibility to pleasure or self-denial for the denial's 
sake. It means that a man cannot be swayed by the near- 
ness and accessibility of a lesser good to give up a greater 
good for it. 

Relation to Courage. — Temperance is the same quality 
of mind as courage, seen from a different point of view. This 
seems hard to realize, when we see a man who has shown him- 



92 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

self brave yielding to temptation. But in just the same way a 
man who has shown himself brave before one danger may flee 
from another; and so also a man who has conquered one 
temptation may surrender to another. Courage is no more 
different from temperance than courage is from courage, or 
temperance from temperance. Each means the control of 
temporary and superficial, but, for the time being, intense 
feelings, by the relatively permanent and deeper lying forces 
of character. 

Corollaries. — It follows that all that we have said above 
with regard to courage may be directly applied to temper- 
ance. Men are temperate, as they are brave, from a variety 
of motives, among which is ambition for wealth or power or 
glory. But the noblest temperance is that which has its 
springs in respect for the standards of justice, in devotion 
to others' welfare, or in a sense of the beauty of the temperate 
character itself. Temperance of the lower kinds may be 
displayed by evil men in the prosecution of evil enterprises. 
It is accordingly not sufficient to constitute moral goodness. 
But without temperance, and, in particular, without some 
degree of ' moral temperance ' (if we may so call it), a good 
character is unthinkable. 

Persistence of Primitive Conceptions. — Temperance is like 
courage also in the fact that peoples of a low degree of moral 
culture do not distinguish it sharply from mere insensibility, 
on the one hand, or from physical endurance, on the other. 
And it may be added here, that the same often remains 
obstinately true of men of a higher culture. Plato, in the 
Banquet, depicts his ideal philosopher drinking all night, till 
his companions are under the table, and the reader is ex- 
pected to admire the hero for his prowess. The excuse is, 
first, that wine is no temptation to him, and, secondly, that 
it does not visibly affect him. I am afraid that even to-day 
we are more than half inclined to admire the performance. 
The same tendency is shown in the confusion of chastity 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 93 

with physical virginity. A ' virtue ' preserved only by bolts 
and bars or by constant espionage may be preferred to a real 
chastity that has been a prey to guile or even to physical 
force. The author of Tom Jones assumes that by committing 
a rape upon a young woman a man can force her either to 
marry him or to give up all hopes of happiness. In the 
Vicar of Wakefield, the heroine, who is supposed to have been 
betrayed by a mock-marriage, is regarded as utterly ruined 
— until the marriage turns out to have been a real one. 

(3) Wisdom 

Courage and temperance together constitute what is 
called ' strength of character.' But character does not need 
strength alone; it needs judgment. The intellectual side 
of morality is wisdom. A good man cannot be a weakling ; 
so also he cannot be a fool. 

Definition. — ' Wisdom/ in the widest sense of the term 
(as it is now used), 1 means knowledge of the relative values of 
things. Of course, in order to know values one must know 
many other particular facts and general truths ; but this is 
subsidiary. The main thing is to know how to choose ; and 
if one has an immense amount of other knowledge and is 
deficient in this, he is not wise. 

Kinds of Wisdom. — There are as many different orders 
of wisdom as there are orders of values among which to 
choose, or, again, as there are diverging lines of human in- 
terest and activity. Good judgment in business may or 
may not go with judgment in art or in the social world. 
There is common ground, to be sure; but also there is in 
each department of life something which requires a special 
experience for its appreciation. 

The highest type of wisdom is the knowledge of the moral 

1 Elsewhere in this volume it is used as the conventional translation of 
ao<pia, which in Aristotle denotes knowledge of pure science. In that con- 
nection the word 'prudence' is used just as we here use 'wisdom.' 



94 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

values themselves, as measured by the various kinds of stand- 
ards which we have been discussing. We shall hereafter 
try to make clear — though, in a way, it is obvious enough 
to common sense — that moral values stand in a very close 
relation to values of the lower kinds. It may not be quite 
accurate to say (with Leslie Stephen) that to show that 
drunkenness is injurious is the same as to show that it is 
morally wrong; but it is certain that it is the injurious 
effects of drunkenness that have caused men to pronounce 
it morally wrong. The higher values of life are not to be 
resolved into the lower; but men's experience of the lower 
values has given at least a general direction to the evolution 
of the higher values. And so moral wisdom, the knowledge 
of the supreme values, cannot exist by itself. A man cannot 
be a general imbecile and a moral sage. 

Relation of Wisdom to Courage and Temperance. — We 
have seen above that courage and temperance are the same 
quality of character seen in different relations. With some 
reservations the same remark may be applied to wisdom also. 
This is hard for us to understand, because so often we see 
men display great heroism and self-restraint in the support 
of a sadly misguided cause, — the uprising of the Scotch 
Highlanders in favor of the Young Pretender, for example 
— or, again, weakly deserting a cause of which they rightly 
approve. But in cases of the one sort we perceive, on re- 
flection, that the folly displayed is, in reality, a high degree 
of wisdom that has failed because of its application to new 
and untried conditions. The whole social existence of the 
Highlander was based upon his fidelity to his hereditary 
chief. This was his best wisdom, approved by the experi- 
ence of his clan for centuries. The support which he gave 
to his ' rightful sovereign ' was simply an extension of the 
wisdom of the clan. Now of course this does not warrant 
us in saying that a mistake is not a mistake ; but it should 
serve to warn us against associating the courage of the High- 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 95 

lander with this particular mistake, and forgetting that it 
had grown up in connection with convictions which within 
their own limits were eminently wise. And in cases of the 
other sort, where wisdom seems to be coupled with cowardice 
and weak indulgence, examination may be counted on to 
show that the supposed wisdom is in reality of a very shallow 
nature. Men do not always act according to their convic- 
tions. Any man, no doubt, may be unmanned under suffi- 
cient stress of danger or temptation. But deeply settled 
convictions are not lightly discarded. It requires powerful 
motives to suppress them. So that when we see a man easily 
led to act against his better judgment, we may rest assured 
that the judgment itself was little more than a form of words, 
with little genuine appreciation behind it. 

The close mutual relation between strength and wisdom 
is to some extent recognized in common speech. Courage 
(or what would otherwise be courage) without wisdom is 
not courage but rashness; temperance without wisdom is 
not temperance but miserliness. And, on the other hand, a 
general knowledge of values, without the ' courage of one's 
convictions/ would by no one be called wisdom. 

Why, then, is the distinction between strength and wisdom 
preserved? If the two are inseparable, if neither is itself 
without the other, why are they not simply identified? 
There would be some advantage in identifying them, and 
some moralists have done so ; but the greater advantage is 
on the other side. It is often by no means a useless proce- 
dure to separate in our minds various aspects of one thing or 
event which in reality belong together, especially if they vary 
in degree or extent independently of one another, or seem 
to do so to common observation. This last is the case with 
wisdom and strength. They are related together as the full- 
ness and accuracy of knowledge to the efficacy of its control 
of conduct. And though in a general way we may say that 
probably no change in the one can occur without some cor- 



96 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

responding change in the other, nevertheless in our actual 
observation of men we estimate the two qualities in great 
part separately. This is largely because we judge a man's 
wisdom not only from his deeds but from his expressed 
opinions ; whereas we are much less inclined to judge courage 
and temperance from words alone, except under circum- 
stances where the words amount to deeds. 

The Cardinal Virtues. — Courage, temperance, and wis- 
dom, together with justice, are the four so-called cardinal 
virtues. The virtue of benevolence, or charity, is not in- 
cluded, because the Greek moralists, to whom the list is due, 
treated benevolence either as a form of justice or else as 
included in friendship. And friendship obviously is not a 
virtue of a single man, though the forming and maintaining 
of friendships is one of the most notable ways in which his 
virtue can manifest itself — a truth which the Greeks were 
fond of pointing out. 

2. Virtue without Effort 

When we compare the morality of virtue with that of duty 
and benevolence, one very important difference soon ap- 
pears. From the point of view of duty or of benevolence we 
attach little importance to conduct which, though right and 
good, calls for little effort on the agent's part. If I pay my 
rent promptly when next it falls due, no one will praise the 
deed. If I tell my children a story to-night at bedtime, 
neither they nor any one else will pay any attention to the 
moral quality of the act. It is only when I persist in my duty 
under strong temptation to the contrary, it is only when the 
benefit which I confer costs me dearly, that any approval is 
aroused. There must be the keen sense of obligation or of 
personal loss. But from the point of view of virtue, common 
acts, performed without effort, are exceedingly important. 
To be such a man as always to meet my petty obligations 
promptly, is to be a very worthy sort of man. To be the 



GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 97 

sort of father that is ready to put down his book to tell the 
children their bedtime story is to be a very good sort of 
father. The separate acts are little or nothing; but the 
trait of character, which underlies and includes them all, is 
much. 

Not only is this true, but, furthermore, from the point of 
view of virtue the conduct which only a keen sense of obliga- 
tion can force through, the benevolence which costs a pang, 
does not appear to be especially admirable. As Aristotle 
puts it, he only is virtuous who takes pleasure in acting 
virtuously. The reason for this difference is simple. From 
the point of view of duty, the essential thing is that the ob- 
ligation has been performed, and the act appears admirable 
in comparison with the breach of duty that under such cir- 
cumstances would not have been surprising. From the 
point of view of benevolence, the essential thing is that the 
impulses of selfishness were as a matter of fact overcome; 
and the act appears admirable in contrast to the easy-going 
acquiescence in another's ill, into which many men, under 
the circumstances, would have slipped. But from the point 
of view of virtue we note the weakness and hesitancy dis- 
played, and contrast them with the strength and decision 
that would not for a moment have left the issue in doubt. 

3. The Imitation of the Ideal 

The Hero. — The values of virtue are very commonly 
represented in our consciousness in the concrete form of 
the ideal personality, or hero; and in that case our moral- 
ity becomes in a peculiar sense an imitation — not an indis- 
criminate imitation of the traits of character of the men and 
women about us, but a selective imitation of what is regarded 
as best. Primarily the heroes are real individuals, perhaps 
parents or friends — " Can't any boy be as good as Ma " — 
perhaps famous men of the present or of the past. The 
imitation of one's ancestors long exerted a powerful in- 



98 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

fluence upon men, because of the way in which it allied itself 
with devotion to the family as a permanent institution. 
The heroes may also be imaginary ; but if they are known to 
be such, their influence is, in general, greatly diminished. 

The Divine Model. — Most notable of all objects of moral 
imitation is the superhuman or divine hero ; Hercules, 
Buddha, or the incarnate God of Christianity. The imita- 
tion of Christ has been the supreme formative and guiding 
influence in the lives of many of the noblest of men. 

Influence of Religion upon Morality. — This is the third 
principal mode that we have found, in which religion has 
set its impress upon morality. The gods are guardians of 
justice ; or chiefs ; or legislators. They are friends of men ; 
or (changing to the singular) the loving Savior of us all, 
whom we love in turn with an unquenchable love. Or they 
are the archetypes of every human perfection, toward which 
our aspirations are set. Needless to say, in actual life all 
these conceptions unite together, reenforcing one another 
in varying degrees, according to the character of the moral 
agent. 

REFERENCES 

Wundt, W., Ethics, Book III, Ch. IV. 

Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chs. IX-XIV. 

Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, Part I, Chs. III-V, IX, XIX. 

Mackenzie, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book III, Chs. III-V. 

Sorley, W. R., The Moral Life. 

Alexander, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book II, Ch. VI. 

Taylor, A. E., The Problem of Conduct, Ch. IV. 

Hobhouse, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part II, Chs. I, II. 

Read, C, Natural and Social Morals, Book II, Ch. VI. 



PART II 

THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS 



99 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

Object of Part II. — Ethics is a science that has grown up 
through centuries of controversy ; and, what is more, all the 
old controversies are still alive, or may at any moment be 
reborn. What the science is to-day cannot, therefore, be 
satisfactorily understood without some knowledge of the 
age-long disputations. In the following chapters we shall 
attempt, not a history of ethics — for that would exceed our 
space — but a critical account of some of the more important 
and typical ethical theories. In general we shall follow the 
historical order, but not strictly. The ethicist is often at 
least as closely connected with the kindred thinkers of a 
previous century as with the rival thinkers of his own. 

In this account we shall limit ourselves for the most part 
to the ethical thought of Greece in the fifth and fourth cen- 
turies B.C. and to that of England in the seventeenth, eight- 
eenth, and nineteenth centuries a.d. In Germany, in the 
half-century that centers at the year 1800, ethical specu- 
lation of the greatest importance was carried on; but it 
will suit our convenience to give it only a secondary place. 

Preliminary Classification. — It will be helpful to have 
before us, for purposes of reference, a classification of prob- 
lems and theories, which will serve to map out this part of 
our study. 

As the student will recall, the theories of ethics have had 
as their starting-point the consideration either of happiness 
or of the moral values. During ancient times the theory of 
happiness was generally the point of departure. In modern 
times it has generally been the theory of moral values. 

101 



102 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Ancient Ethics : Its First Problems. — Curiously enough, 
however, in the beginnings of the science it was the moral 
values that first attracted attention. In the latter half of 
the fifth century b.c. we find the following questions dis- 
cussed : (1) How far are the moral distinctions natural, and 
how far merely conventional ? (2) Is morality always profit- 
able? (3) 7s morality a matter of feeling and habit, or of in- 
tellectual discernment ? 

The Three Great Schools. — At the beginning of the 
fourth century these questions are all still prominent. But 
behind them looms up the other question : What is goodness 
in general, and what is human happiness? And this soon 
becomes the primary issue between ethical thinkers. It 
divides them into three well-marked schools, holding the 
following distinctive theories : 

I. Hedonism, according to which happiness consists in 
pleasure, and unhappiness in pain, and things in general 
are good or bad according as they tend to produce pleasure 
or pain. 

II. Rigorism, according to which happiness is identical 
with virtue, and unhappiness with vice, and nothing else is 
good or evil. 

III. Energism (or the self-realization theory), according to 
which happiness consists in the normal exercise of man's 
faculties, and especially of his highest faculty (supposed to be 
pure reason) ; and things in general are good or evil accord- 
ing as they produce favorable or unfavorable conditions for 
such exercise. 1 

In these formulae, and quite generally in ethical literature, 
the term ' happiness ' is the conventional translation of the 
Greek cvSa/xovta, which was used by thinkers of all schools to 

1 In his classification of ethical theories, Aristotle also mentions, as re- 
quiring critical notice, Plato's theory, that the goodness of anything is due 
to the active presence in it of the eternal idea of the good. As he suggests, 
the theory is really of far more importance for metaphysics than for ethics ; 
but we can hardly avoid giving some account of it. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE 103 

denote the highest human good, however great their disagree- 
ment as to the nature of this good. A less misleading trans- 
lation would be ' well-being ' ; and this might be defined as 
1 a condition of mind that is intrinsically desirable.' It is 
well, however, to follow convention in such matters. It is 
necessary to make this explanation because sometimes the 
term ' happiness ' is used as an equivalent for ' pleasure and 
the absence of pain.' Of course, in hedonistic literature the 
two meanings coincide. 

The three views thus denned persisted side by side, with 
various compromises and harmonizations, throughout the 
whole history of the ancient science of ethics. Energism 
had decidedly the least influence in ancient times, but it has 
had an immense influence upon modern thought, especially 
in the nineteenth century. 

The Beginnings of Modern Ethics. — Modern ethics arose 
in the seventeenth century in the endeavor to answer the 
question : (1) What is the significance of the moral law, and 
how can its authority be demonstrated? Involved in this was 
the further question : (2) What is the nature of man, and for 
what manner of life is he naturally fit 1 

The Classical English Schools. — But in the eighteenth 
century (which is the classical period in English ethics) the 
first place was taken by the psychological question : How do 
we perceive the distinctions between right and wrong, good and 
bad? The principal writers were divided into three schools, 
according as they professed : 

I. Intuitionalism, or the view that the moral quality of 
conduct is its agreement or disagreement with an intuitively 
perceived body of law. 

II. Sentimentalism, according to which the moral quality 
of conduct or character is its capacity for stimulating a 
certain class of sensations or feelings. 

III. Utilitarianism (or the derivative theory), according to 



104 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

which the moral quality of conduct is its tendency to increase 
or decrease the general sum of pleasure ; and the apprecia- 
tion of this quality is not an innate faculty, but is developed 
in each man's experience from an original desire for pleasure. 
The Hedonistic Controversy. — The nineteenth century 
is marked by a revival of the ancient controversy between hedon- 
ism and energism, with regard to the nature of happiness. 
(In the eighteenth century the principal adherents of all 
schools had been more or less definitely hedonists, with only 
an occasional imperfect expression of the energistic view.) 
The hedonistic side was championed by descendants of the 
old utilitarians. The cause of energism was supported by 
men who were strongly influenced by the German idealistic 
philosophy that had its rise in the speculations of Immanuel 
Kant. 

REFERENCES ON THE HISTORY OF ETHICS 

Sidgwick, H., History of Ethics. 

Maktineatj, J., Types of Ethical Theory. 

Wundt, W., Ethics, Part II. 

Paulsen, F., System of Ethics, Book I. 

Hyslop, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. II. 

Rogers, R. A., Brief History of Ethics. 

Hobhouse, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part II, Chs. VI, VII. 

Watson, J., Hedonistic Thinkers from Aristippus to Spencer. 



CHAPTER VI 
THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 

I. The Sophists 

Their Occupation. — The beginnings of ethics were a con- 
sequence of the rise of democracy among the states of Greece, 
which took place during the fifth century before Christ. 
Hitherto, under an aristocratic regime, inherited wealth 
was the chief requisite for political power. Now birth and 
money lost a part of their influence. The humblest origin 
need not prevent any citizen of talent from becoming a 
leader in the state. Above all things else, the art of the 
orator was in those times essential to the politician. In the 
public assembly, as well as in the law courts where his ene- 
mies might at any time bring him, the power to hold and 
sway an audience was the chief element of success. Conse- 
quently, the ambitious young men of wealth were ardently 
desirous of training along this line, as well as in other branches 
of the art of governing men ; and a number of enterprising 
teachers soon appeared in response to this demand. These 
were the sophists. In the absence of organized schools, 
they traveled from city to city, giving their instruction at 
the homes of wealthy patrons, and arousing the most intense 
enthusiasm. In addition to oratory and politics, most of 
them taught other subjects belonging to a polite education, 
such as literature, history, geography, and mathematics; 
all of which, indeed, were felt to have a real value in prepar- 
ing a young man for civic usefulness. 

Their Philosophical Interests. — The sophists were prac- 
tical men, training their pupils for practical ends. But 

105 



106 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

incidentally they were led to do some acute thinking upon 
the theory that lay behind the practice ; and in so doing they 
made an epoch in the history of human thought. The 
earlier philosophical thinking of the Greeks had been almost 
entirely limited to ' physical ' problems, that is, to the ex- 
planation of external nature. In a hundred years, a long 
succession of ingenious theories of the constitution of things 
had been originated, involving many scientific conceptions 
which have since proved wonderfully fruitful; but very 
little had been securely established. The sophists were well 
acquainted with the old physical theories, and some used 
them for purposes of display. But their originality lay else- 
where — in reflections upon man and society ; upon lan- 
guage, science, and religion ; upon the nature and origin of 
law, civil and moral. Each sophist was independent of the 
others, and their teachings, though showing some common 
tendencies, were widely divergent. 

Prejudice against the Sophists. — The sophists were the 
first Greeks to be professionally engaged in higher education ; 
and consequently men of conservative tendencies were in- 
tensely prejudiced against them. They were doing for 
money what had always been the work of friendship, to be 
paid for only with respect and affection. The young man 
who wished for higher culture had simply attached himself 
to some accomplished friend of the family, and informal 
companionship had done the rest. 1 The leisure-loving 
Greeks had a certain contempt for professionalism in any 
form, even for their great artists and successful athletes. 

1 "Gorgias of Leontini, Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis . . . each 
of them, my friends, can go into any city, and persuade the young men to 
leave the society of their fellow citizens, with any of whom they might as- 
sociate for nothing, and to be only too glad to be allowed to pay money for 
the privilege of associating with themselves." (Plato, Apol. Soc, 20 A, 
Church tr.) These, with Protagoras of Abdera, who died earlier, are the 
greater sophists. Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, who is also important for 
ethics, belonged to a younger group. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 107 

Added to this, they did not like to have the faith of the young 
men upset by an impious prying into the religion and moral- 
ity of their fathers. Besides, the actual teaching of certain 
of the sophists had (as we shall see) a decidedly skeptical 
tendency, which increased as time went on. 1 In this respect 
they went no farther than the hardened men of the world 
about them. They gave scientific expression to a widespread 
spirit of unbelief. But for this very reason they were feared 
and hated the more. 

Their Real Character. — It is not to be thought that the 
sophists were men of evil character. Certain of them may 
have been so ; but the great leaders of the movement cer- 
tainly were not. They are uniformly represented as hon- 
orable and worthy men. With the exception of Gorgias, 
who was more exclusively a rhetorician, they all gave formal 
instruction in morality. The Choice of Hercules, an allegory 
of Prodicus, in which the greater value of virtue as compared 
with self-indulgence is set forth, has been preserved by 
Xenophon (Mem. Soc. II, 1) in a rough transcript, and is a 
fine piece of moral eloquence ; and though Prodicus used to 
recite the piece as a specimen of his rhetorical ability, its 
tone is far removed from insincerity. 

The Weakening of Popular Morals. — There are two 
beliefs with regard to moral laws that may be said to con- 
stitute the common-sense view of the matter : first, that these 
laws are universal and unchangeable ; and secondly, that 
obedience to them is profitable. Not that common sense 
is unwavering in either belief; for, indeed, common sense 
has a habit of being upon both sides of every question. One 

1 Thus, as to religion, Protagoras declared: "Whether the gods exist or 
not, I have no means of knowing. For there are many difficulties in the 
way — the obscurity of the problem and the shortness of human life." 
Others were still more outspoken. It was perceived that the religions, 
like the laws, of different peoples are very dissimilar ; and this led to their 
being regarded as mere superstitions, or as a clever device of politicians for 
preventing secret crimes. 



108 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

finds a widespread assumption, that whatever is not for- 
bidden by the law of the land is right enough ; and an even 
more widespread suspicion, that the rascals have an ad- 
vantage in the struggle for the good things of life, or, at any 
rate, that it is not well to push one's probity too far. The 
other views, however, are the dominant ones. Now at this 
time the widening of the civil and commercial relations of 
the Greek states with each other and with the outer world 
was leading to a serious questioning of the old convictions. 
The moral standards of different communities were too un- 
like for all to be eternally authoritative ; and men of sense 
could not forever keep saying that their own ways were 
right and those of all other men wrong. Even among the 
Greeks themselves, it was found that there was scarcely any 
course of conduct, however abhorred in one community, 
that was not in some other community regarded as eminently 
right and proper. Thus the Thebans condemned the ex- 
posure of infants; Athenian fathers practiced it without 
shame; while in Sparta the government decided which of 
the newborn infants were to be preserved, and which put 
out of the way. 

Nature vs. Convention : Hippias. — Among the sophists 
the question was definitely raised : What is the natural basis, 
the permanent element (<£v<ns), of morality, as distinguished 
from what is mere artifice and convention (Oecris) ? That there 
was such a permanent element seems to have been at first 
unquestioned. Tyrants and free assemblies might make 
and unmake statutes as they pleased ; but since the very act 
of legislation might be just or unjust, there must be some- 
thing higher by which to judge it. This, thought Hippias, 
could only be discovered by setting aside in thought all that 
legislative caprice had ordered in one place and another, 
and looking to the underlying principles of justice which are 
everywhere tacitly acknowledged, and which are the spon- 
taneous dictates of human nature. " Law is a tyrant over 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 109 

men, and forces them to many things contrary to nature." 
As to just what the natural standard was supposed by him to 
contain we know almost nothing. " Like is by nature akin 
to like," was one of his maxims — an early expression of 
cosmopolitanism. Governments he evidently believed to 
have been established by the voluntary agreement of men as 
a device to secure an impartial arbitration of disputes be- 
tween individuals, and thus preserve the balance of justice 
amid the extremes of personal feeling. 1 

Protagoras : the Moral Feelings. — Protagoras, the great- 
est of the sophists, maintained that there is, indeed, a uni- 
versal element in morality, but one which, as he says, is " not 
of natural or spontaneous growth." That is to say, it con- 
sists of certain feelings, the capacity for which is not inherited, 
but is passed on from generation to generation by means of 
social tradition, or education — much as the ability to speak 
Greek is not inherited, but is transmitted by social influences. 
These moral feelings are those of shame and justice. 

Importance of Morality. — The importance of these feel- 
ings, which insures their universal perpetuation, is that 
without them organized society, and even the race of man- 
kind, could not be maintained. For, in the first place, gov- 
ernment is not a mere convenient device. Only in civil 
society can man, feeble creature that he is, be saved by united 
action from his natural enemies. And, in the second place, 
government is not possible by means of any mere wisdom or 
technical skill ; for these could never restrain human selfish- 
ness. It must have a foundation in feeling. Hence the 
necessity for morality. Without shame and justice a man is 
essentially an outlaw. 

The Moral Tradition. — The social influences by which 
morality is perpetuated are active from infancy to age. 
First there is the family with its precepts and punishments ; 
next the schools of letters, music, and gymnastics, the main 

1 Such a theory is satirized by Plato in Protagoras, 337 E-338 B. 



110 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

object of which is the formation of character; and finally 
the state, which by the promulgation and enforcement of 
its laws continues to guide and control the individual until 
death. Virtue is a branch in which all men are willing 
teachers ; for each stands to profit by the improvement of 
every other; and as a result the worst of civilized men is 
immeasurably better than the savage. The opportunities 
for improvement being approximately equal, the moral 
differences between individuals are to be ascribed mainly to 
differences in the congenital endowment which make them 
more or less apt pupils. The sophist is simply a little wiser 
in moral matters than the majority, and much more skilled 
in the art of instruction. Hence he can promise to his pupils 
a steady improvement in virtue, and his services are admit- 
tedly worth all he charges. 

Conventionality of Moral Standards. — What, now, are 
we to say with respect to the external standards — the laws 
and ordinances, in accordance with which the moral feelings 
are trained? Whence are they derived? Protagoras, in 
the extant account, answers only that those of the state are 
the " inventions of good and ancient law-givers," and he 
leaves us to infer a similar origin for those inculcated in the 
family and the schools. Their whole content is thus to an 
undefined extent conventional. All men must have some 
laws ; but one people has one code, and another has perhaps 
a radically different code, to each of which, equally and in- 
differently, the moral feelings are caused by training to at- 
tach themselves. What seems right to any people is right 
so far as that people is concerned. 

Ethical Skepticism : Thrasymachus. — Now this is very 
plausible as far as it goes. But there is one relevant circum- 
stance which it passes over ; namely, that not all laws have 
the sanctity of age, but new ones are made by every popular 
assembly. What reverence will a citizen feel for laws that 
he has seen in the making, especially when he realizes the 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 111 

pressure of selfish interests that has forced their passage? 
Brushing aside all sentimentality, Thrasymachus of Chalce- 
don boldly defined justice as " the interest of the stronger." 
In every state the rules of just and unjust are made by the 
dominant party to suit their own selfish ends. It is the part 
of prudence for the weaker to obey (or conceal his disobedi- 
ence) and thus escape punishment. But if a man can be 
unjust enough — if he has the power to overthrow the domi- 
nant party and substitute his interests for theirs — that is of 
course much to be preferred. Justice is thus a prudent 
middle ground between the weak, unfortunate injustice that 
is followed by punishment, and the victorious injustice that 
goes scot-free. All talk of justice as having a value in itself 
is nonsense. To be restrained by moral scruples is " charm- 
ing simplicity," " egregious good-nature " — letting oneself 
be victimized. 

" Callicles." — In the Gorgias of Plato, Callicles, a free- 
thinking man of the world who has enjoyed a sophistic edu- 
cation, expresses a similar but somewhat subtler view. The 
rules of morality, he declares, are a conventional device of 
the great mass of human weaklings to hold in restraint the 
men of exceptional ability who would otherwise oppress them. 
According to nature they ought to do this ; for might is the 
only natural right — as every foreign conquest well illus- 
trates. But it is dinned into them from infancy that they 
must be content to have no more than their neighbors, that 
equality is honorable and just — for equality is as much as 
the consciously inferior man dares hope for. Thus the su- 
perior men are cheated by empty words. But one who had 
sufficient force of character would break loose from this mys- 
tification and trample our unnatural laws under foot. In- 
stead of being a slave he would be a tyrant, and show the 
world what natural justice is. 



112 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

II. Socrates 

His Historical Position. — The position of Socrates with 
reference to this whole movement of thought is peculiar. 
He was an intense patriot and temperamentally conservative. 
Although a poor man, he shared to the full the aristocratic 
prejudice against receiving pay for the imparting of liberal 
culture, and this in itself marked him out from the ranks of 
the sophists. But he also felt deeply the dangerous tendencies 
toward selfish individualism which the sophistic theories 
were evincing, and he feared their effect upon the civic ideals 
of the state's most promising young men. At the same time, 
he saw that to go back to a blind traditionalism would never 
do. The principle of free inquiry was right. But he be- 
lieved that a sufficiently careful examination would show that 
the traditional morality and the institutions of government 
contained a core of eternal worth; and moreover that this 
core consisted of no mere blind feelings, but of distinct 
conceptions, that could be expressed in universally appli- 
cable definitions. 1 To the finding of this permanent core, 
and the separation from it of all that was arbitrary and non- 
essential, he devoted his life. This would make righteous- 
ness no longer a matter of ingrained prejudice, but of scien- 
tific knowledge ; and the threatened ruin of the state through 
the undermining of the morality of its citizens would be 
effectually prevented. As a constructive critic, Socrates thus 

1 The reader who has some acquaintance with the history of philosophy 
will recognize that this difference between Socrates and Protagoras is symp- 
tomatic of a much larger difference, which runs through their whole thought. 
Protagoras believed that knowledge consisted of perceptions, or of images 
derived from perception. Between knowledge and mere opinion he saw no 
radical difference : when our opinions do not get us into trouble we call 
them knowledge. Socrates, on the other hand, considered the distinction 
between knowledge and opinion an absolute one, and made it the founda- 
tion of all his thinking. According to him, knowledge, in the proper sense 
of the term, is not made up of perceptions, which vary from moment to 
moment and from man to man, but of conceptions, which are constant and 
alike for all men, and hence are capable of exact definition. (Cf. p. 14.) 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 113 

came between two fires. On the one hand he was very gen- 
erally classed with the sophists as one who was impiously 
tampering with the moral convictions of the young men; 
and on the other hand the sophists and their friends looked 
upon him as a malicious enemy of free thought. 

1. Fundamental Assumptions 

(1) Theory of Desire. — There are two mainsprings of 
Socrates's ethical theory. The first is the assumption (almost 
as a self-evident truth), that no man ever willingly chooses 
for himself the worse of two given alternatives; and hence that 
if a man knows what is best he will be sure to act accordingly. 

We are all aware of experiences that seem to contradict 
this. As Aristotle says, Socrates speaks as if incontinence, 
or weakness of will, did not exist. In a later age Ovid gave 
us the classical expression of the common view of the matter : 
" I see the better things and recognize their worth — I follow 
after the worse." But according to Socrates the so-called 
knowledge that does not control conduct is no knowledge 
at all, but mere opinion. It lacks the clearness, definiteness, 
and certainty of real knowledge. And that is why, under 
the influence of passion, it fluctuates and changes into its 
opposite. For that is what occurs when one acts, as the 
phrase is, * contrary to one's judgment. ' At the moment 
one has simply lost faith in it. 

To be sure, most of the so-called knowledge upon which men pride themselves 
is couched in terms which they cannot define. But that simply means that 
it is all mere opinion. Now on many topics a probable opinion is perhaps 
all that is needed ; at any rate it seems to be all that we are capable of 
devising. But in the field of moral conduct we need knowledge, we need 
an absolute assurance — if the Greek states are not to go to ruin. And 
since in this case we are dealing with facts of our own nature, open to our 
direct inspection, there is no reason why knowledge should not here be 
possible. 

Accordingly, it was natural that Protagoras should make justice and 
honor matters of feeling, determined by tradition, while Socrates made them 
a matter of science, to whose final criticism all traditions must submit. 
I 



114 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

(2) Theory of Value. — The second mainspring is his 
theory of value ; namely, that the good is the useful ; or, 
since it is the good of humanity that alone concerns the serious 
thinker, that the good is what is useful to man. This surprises 
us ; for we are apt to think of a kind of goodness, or value, 
which is more than mere utility ; beauty, for example, not 
to speak of moral values. But Socrates held of beauty, too, 
that it is nothing more or less than fitness for some purpose. 
" ' Then is a dung-basket beautiful ? ' ' Yes, by Jove, and a 
golden shield is ugly, if the one is beautifully made and the 
other badly made, each for its own purposes. 7 " Hence the 
beautiful thing becomes ugly when applied to a purpose not 
its own. Goodness and beauty are at bottom the same. 
The one is usefulness to somebody; the other is adaptation 
to some use. All things are good and beautiful, or bad 
and ugly, in precisely the same respects; as, indeed, the 
common idiom, by which the expression ' beautiful-and- 
good ' (KaXoKdyadov) was used almost as a single word, made 
it easy for the Greek to believe. 1 

It would probably not be fair to Socrates to say that he 
denied the existence of an ultimate good, which had its value 
in itself, apart from any application ; though language is 
ascribed to him which seems to mean this. " If you ask me 
whether I know anything that is good for nothing, I neither 
know it nor care to." The truth seems to be that he did not 
distinctly put such a question to himself. He looked at life 
from a point of view to which the conception of a good-in- 
itself did not obviously belong. Life presented itself to him, 
not as a series of alternate strivings and achievements, but 
as a chain of activities each of which led on to others, and was 
not to be considered apart from its consequences. Even 
death did not end the chain. For, not to speak of the possi- 

1 It should be noticed that ko\6p (beautiful) includes what we should 
call 'honorable,' and must often be so translated; just as alaxp^v (ugly) 
includes what is dishonorable, or shameful. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 115 

bility of an after-life (concerning which he would not dogma- 
tize), there is the lingering good or evil fame to be considered, 
to which one's conduct in this life gives rise. 

Public and Private Good. — For each man the good is 
what is useful to himself ; but this must not be understood 
too narrowly. Here again we must note that a question 
which in later days has become most important is not dis- 
tinctly raised. Socrates never, so far as we know, asked 
himself whether a man's private good might not conflict 
with the good of the society in which he lived. He simply 
takes for granted, as the intensely social life of the Greeks 
made it natural to assume, that public and private good are 
the same. A man's advantage may extend as far as his inter- 
ests. The good of each includes the good of all with whom 
his life is bound up — family, friends, fellow-citizens — even 
foreigners, perhaps, though Socrates admits that the nearer 
of kin make the stronger appeal. 

2. Theory of Virtue 

The Central Thesis. — Putting together the two funda- 
mental doctrines, we speedily arrive at the most famous of 
Socrates's teachings : that all virtue is knowledge. Speaking 
generally, no matter how good anything ordinarily is, it may 
on occasion prove to be an evil. So it is with beauty, health, 
riches, fame, technical skill. Likewise what is good for one 
man may be evil for another. But goods are of two sorts, 
those of the soul and those of the body. And among the 
goods of the soul there is one that is unconditionally good ; 
namely, wisdom (o-o^ia), or the knowledge of what is good and 
evil. From this no evil can flow. For let it be recalled that, 
according to Socrates, such knowledge always brings about 
the choice of the good. Now the so-called ' virtues ' are 
merely wisdom in various relations, and the ' vices ' are 
different aspects of folly. This is obvious in the case of tem- 
perance (<T(D(f>po<TvvT]) . " Wisdom and temperance he did not 



116 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

distinguish. But by a man's using what he knew to be hon- 
orable and good, and avoiding what he knew to be shameful, 
he judged a man to be both wise and temperate. When he 
was further asked whether he regarded as wise and continent 
those who knew what they ought to do but did the opposite, 
— ' No more that/ said he, ' than foolish and incontinent. 
For I think that all men do whatever (among the given possi- 
bilities) they prefer as most advantageous to themselves. 
So I believe that those who do not act rightly are neither 
wise nor temperate.' ' But the same is true of all the other 
virtues. " He said that justice and all other virtue was 
wisdom. For just acts and all things that are done virtu- 
ously are honorable and good. 1 And those who know 
them prefer nothing else to them ; while those who do 
not know cannot do them, but, even when they try, miss 
the mark." 

Courage. — But the most striking illustration of Socrates's 
theory of virtue is to be found in courage. For this too is 
wisdom. Mere fearlessness is not courage, for that may be 
due to ignorance or madness. The brave man in every situa- 
tion is the man who knows how to face it. Thus the Spar- 
tans stand firm in the battle line, because they know how to 
use their shields and spears. Give them the light arms of 
the Thracians or the bows of the Scythians, and they would 
be no longer brave. But the worst evils are moral evils. 
Hence the highest courage — that is to say, the greatest 
wisdom — is to be shown in preferring every other evil, even 
death itself, to these. 

The Utility of Virtue. — It is clear, then, that while Soc- 
rates conceives of no ultimate good, he does believe in an 
absolute good — unmixed with evil and more precious than 
any other. But its value is that of a supreme usefulness. 
" Not from wealth does virtue come ; but from virtue come 

1 They are clearly honorable ; and. as we have seen, Socrates believes 
that the honorable and the good are identical. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 117 

wealth and all other human goods, both public and private." 
So he was continually crying in the ears of his fellow-citi- 
zens. " When some one asked him what he thought to be 
the best pursuit for a man, he answered: c Happiness.' 
(exnrpaiCa ; etymologic-ally, i doing well.') Asked further 
if he thought that good fortune could be a pursuit, he said : 
' I regard fortune and happiness (or unhappiness) as alto- 
gether different. To chance upon something that one wants, 
without looking for it, is, I think, good fortune. To perform 
well what one has learned and thought about, I consider to 
be happiness, and those who pursue this course seem to me 
to be happy.' " 

According to Socrates the virtuous life is a very pleasant 
one ; in fact, the most pleasant possible. Even the lower 
pleasures are advanced in value. Temperance in diet gives 
every morsel a relish. Temperance in all things takes away 
the annoyance of petty deprivations, leaves a man free to 
act for himself and his friends, and by winning general con- 
fidence puts him in the way of all manner of advantages. 
If the good man thinks little of bodily gratifications, that is 
because he has other and sweeter sources of pleasure, which 
not only give delight for the moment but promise a perma- 
nent benefit. The feeling of present success is always pleas- 
ant. But most pleasant of all is it to feel that one is becoming 
better and is gaining better friends. 

Self-knowledge. — As virtue is the knowledge of good and 
evil, so the supreme virtue is the knowledge of the good and 
evil in oneself, that is to say, of the extent of one's own 
knowledge and ignorance. This is the significance which 
Socrates found in the famous inscription at Delphi : " Know 
thyself." This is the motive of that constant self-exami- 
nation and revelation of others to themselves, in which he 
was engaged. To have a virtue is to know the class of good 
and evil things with which it is concerned ; and to know is to 
have in one's mind a conception, such as can be expressed in 



118 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

an exact definition. The object of ethical inquiry is to bring 
forward these conceptions and separate them out from the 
mass of opinion with which they are confused. Without 
this one can have no proper assurance that one is doing right, 
but may, perhaps, perform the worst iniquities in the belief 
that they are pure and holy. It is only through the knowl- 
edge of one's limitations that one can rationally strive to 
remove them. 

Moral Education. — From this point of view we can 
understand Socrates's paradoxical theory of moral education. 
Virtue, he said, could not be taught, and he ridiculed the 
claims of. the sophists that they were able to teach it. " ' Cal- 
lias/ said I, ' if your two sons were colts or calves, we could 
hire an overseer for them, to perfect them in their own proper 
excellence; and he would be a groom or a farmer. Now 
since they are men, whom do you intend to get for an over- 
seer ? Who understands their sort of excellence — that of 
the man and the citizen ? I suppose you have inquired, since 
you have sons. Is there anyone/ said I, ' or not/ c Why, 
certainly/ said he. ' Who/ said I, ' and from where, and for 
what fee?' ' Evenos, the Parian, Socrates/ said he, 'for 
five minse.' And I congratulated Evenos, if he really knows 
this art and teaches so properly. And I should be proud 
myself and take on airs, if I knew it ; but I do not, fellow 
Athenians.'' True moral education is more than a process 
of admonition and punishment. No overseer can train a 
man. Yet Socrates was confident that his followers had 
been greatly benefited by their association with him. The 
key to the apparent contradiction lies in his belief that moral 
advancement involves for each man an active process of self- 
analysis, which no other can take upon himself, and which 
no teacher can guarantee. The teacher and the pupil must 
be companions, engaged in a cooperative search. The 
teacher too is a learner, ever submitting his own convictions to 
new tests, and correcting them day by day. And with the 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 119 

best of intentions success must ultimately depend upon the 
blessing of God. 

Did Socrates allow no place to habituation in the formation 
of character ? In principle he did not ; but as a matter of 
fact he did. His whole philosophy was based upon the dis- 
tinction between knowledge (as the term is applied to exact 
science) and opinion ; and, as we have seen, he holds that all 
virtue is knowledge. But when examples of such knowledge 
are to be cited, he is represented as using the art of the car- 
penter, the musician, or the physician, or even the practiced 
skill of the diver or the soldier. He seems to have taken for 
granted that in the acquiring of knowledge the training of the 
body has its essential place. And so, in the cultivation of 
every virtue, study and exercise (jxdOrjo-is koI /xeXeV^s) go 
hand in hand. Perhaps it was by reason of this loose concep- 
tion of knowledge that Socrates was able to assume the 
possibility of knowing without knowing that you know — 
the knowledge acquired in practice being afterwards brought 
to clear attention by a searching induction. 

The Standards of Justice. — There is one important 
feature of Socrates's ethics which we have not yet considered, 
though it is involved in the conception of virtue as knowledge. 
Knowledge is distinguished from opinion by its perfect defi- 
niteness and certitude. This implies that the objects of 
knowledge are similarly definite and immovable — that they 
cannot be arbitrary fictions that change with the changes 
of fashion or of personal whim. When, therefore, Socrates 
says that justice is knowledge of what is just and unjust, he 
implies that the distinction between just and unjust is an 
absolute one. Now justice means conformity to law ; and 
the question arises, how, when laws change as they do, 
an eternal justice is possible. Socrates's answer is twofold. 
In the first place, even though laws be temporary, it may be 
eternally obligatory on us to obey whatever laws are in force. 
(Even so a state of war is temporary ; yet it is not for that 



120 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

reason any the less the citizens' duty to fight for their country 
manfully while the war lasts.) But if that be true, as he 
believes, then it must be an eternal law that men should obey 
the temporary laws. (As Xenophon puts it, it is the pleasure 
of the gods that just and lawful should be the same.) In 
the second place, however, this is not the only eternal law. 
There are others too, which are universally in force, even 
though they are not always recognized or obeyed ; for when 
they are disobeyed, the penalty naturally and inevitably 
follows. Such are the laws, that men should worship the gods, 
honor their parents, be grateful to their benefactors. But the 
most important law of all is that men should seek knowledge 
and especially self-knowledge ; for the penalty is ignorance 
and folly. It was upon this ground that Socrates, at the trial 
which resulted in his condemnation and death, refused to 
purchase any indulgence by promising to discontinue his 
investigations. " Fellow Athenians, I love you and embrace 
you, but I will obey the god rather than you." But what, 
then, becomes of the broken human law? Are its claims to 
respect undone? Not by any means. It is no law of God 
that we should break even an unjust law for our own temporal 
profit ; and though adhering to the higher standard, Socrates 
was ready and willing to lay down his life in obedience to the 
lower standard. 

Religious Notions. — Of Socrates's religion a few words 
may be said. The indications are that he accepted in the 
main the traditional religion of the people, regarding it as a 
state institution to which the obedient citizen was bound 
to give his allegiance, and which, moreover, was substantially 
confirmed by the fulfillment of oracles, dreams, and other 
indications of the future ; but that he imposed upon it, so 
to speak, a monotheism. The old gods — the sun and moon, 
for example — were thus recognized as finite beings, like men, 
though vastly superior to men in intelligence and worth. 
But above them was one who was god in a different 



THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 121 

sense, 1 a being of infinite knowledge and goodness, the author 
and ruler of the world, and, above all else, the eternal legis- 
lator and judge. The evidence for this Socrates found in the 
beauty and order of the universe ; in the adaptation of man's 
surroundings, and especially of his bodily structure to his 
needs ; and in the inevitable necessity by which, as he be- 
lieved, happiness attended upon virtue and misery upon vice. 
His notion of prayer was characteristic. He would pray for 
nothing in particular, but only for l the good/ For any good 
fortune which he might specify might prove to be an evil to 
him. And the chief good was not to be had by good fortune, 
but to be attained by persevering effort. Of immortality he 
seems to have thought as a precious hope, suggested by an- 
cient and traditional lore. The idea of a future judgment 
was reasonable enough ; though he believed that divine judg- 
ment was perfectly executed in this world. 

The Issues. — Is the basis of morality to be found in feeling 
or in intelligence ? Are its values perceived by the excitation 
of certain peculiar sentiments, or are they objects of rational 
knowledge ? Are the laws of morality, like the laws of par- 
ticular states, useful conventions, which might well have 
been otherwise, but which, as matters stand, serve their 
turn very well ; or are they eternal laws, so bound up with 
the nature of things that whether men recognize them or not 
their authority is undisturbed ? 

REFERENCES 

Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates. 

Plato, Apology of Socrates, Protagoras, and Hippias Minor. 
Grote, G., History of Greece, Chs. LXVII, LXVIIL 
Zeller. E., Pre-Socratic Philosophy, Section III, and Socrates and 
the Socratic Schools, Part II, Ch. VII, Ch. IX, C. 

1 At the same time, Socrates seems to have identified him with Zeus and 
Apollo — especially with the god of Delphi. Even so Heraclitus of Ephesus 
had said of the supreme being: "He is willing and unwilling to be called 
by the name of Zeus." 



122 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Gomperz, T., Greek Thinkers, Book III, Chs. IV-VI; Book IV, 

Ch. IV. 
Caird, E., Evolution of Theology in the Greek Philosophers, Lecture 

III. 
Blackie, J. S., Four Phases of Morals, Ch. I. 
Forbes, E. T., Socrates. 

Benn, A. W., The Philosophy of Greece, Chs. I, IV, V. 
Watson, J., Hedonistic Theories, Ch. I. 



CHAPTER VII 

HEDONISM 

The Socratic Schools. — The many-sidedness of Socrates's 
moral philosophy is such that it is no wonder that after his 
death his disciples at once separated into at least three differ- 
ent schools, each emphasizing a different aspect of the master's 
doctrine. The leaders of these schools were, at first, naturally 
enough, certain of his older pupils : Euclid of Megara, Antis- 
thenes of Athens, and Aristippus of Cyrene. Euclid was of 
a speculative turn of mind, and set himself to drawing the 
conclusions that followed from asserting that virtue is one ; 
that it is knowledge of the good; that the only absolute 
good is virtue itself ; and that what can be truly known must 
be eternal. And he emerged with the beautiful doctrine, 
that all that exists is one perfect being; all variety and 
change, and especially all evil, being an illusion. Antisthenes 
was an ardent reformer ; and what struck him as important 
was the fact that virtue was in itself sufficient to make life 
worth living, and that, as the only unconditionally good 
thing, all else was to be despised in comparison with it. To 
the genial Aristippus the significant point was that the virtu- 
ous life was full of pleasure. After a few years, a much 
younger pupil of Socrates rose to a prominence in which he 
overshadowed all his elders. This was Plato of Athens. 
At the outset he stood closest to Euclid ; but he developed 
all sides of Socrates's doctrine in a remarkable way. Euclid's 
theories were not very fruitful for ethics, and we shall there- 
fore omit them from consideration here. Those of the other 
men have profoundly affected the later history of the science. 

In the present and the following two chapters, we shall 
study the three lines of speculation thus initiated. 

123 



124 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

I. Aristippus 

Conception of an Ultimate Good. — We have remarked that 
in Socrates's thought the happy life appears as an indefinitely 
prolonged chain of activities, each of which leads on to others, 
without a definite goal being anywhere reached. To the 
generation which followed him this seemed an impossible 
position to maintain. Unless there is something which is 
good in itself, without reference to anything that may come 
after, how can anything be good at all? If the means is to 
have value, the end must have value ; and though this end 
may itself be only a means to a further end, the series of 
means and ends must have a final stopping-place; else all 
value is illusory. 

The Pleasure-theory. — According to Aristippus * this 
stopping place is reached in each feeling of pleasure. This, 
whatever else may happen, is good. There is no need of re- 
finements or vague speculations about the matter. What 
makes the happy life worth living is the pleasure in it. It 
is not as if such a life had any peculiar higher value in itself 
for which it should be pursued. Its value is that of its par- 
ticular pleasant moments — offset, to be sure, by whatever 
painful moments it contains. For pain, too, is a stopping 
place in the chain of consequences. Every feeling of pain is 
bad in itself. If any proof is wanted for these assertions, we 
have only to observe that all men, nay, all animate beings, 
from the very moment of birth, pursue pleasure and avoid 
pain — except, perhaps, where some abnormality interferes 
with the ordinary course of nature. 

1 Aristippus of Cyrene (in Africa) was a typical sophist, wandering from 
city to city and teaching for pay. His wit and courtliness made him a fa- 
vorite among men of the highest rank. How long he studied with Socrates 
we do not know ; but he evidently met him in a spirit of considerable inde- 
pendence. It is probable that he had previously been a pupil of Protagoras, 
of whose principles (not only in ethics but in the theory of knowledge) we 
are frequently reminded. Late in life he established a school in Cyrene, the 
members of which were called Cyrenaics. 



HEDONISM 125 

All pleasures are alike, all pains are alike, except in quan- 
tity. All that is pleasant is good, in so far as it is pleasant, 
no matter how shameful it may be or how productive of 
painful after-effects. Similarly, all that is painful is evil, in 
so far as it is painful. Between pleasure and pain lies the 
apathy of indifference. 

Aristippus and his earlier followers held that the greatest 
pleasures and pains are those of the body, i.e. those that 
arise from a present stimulus acting upon the senses of 
touch, taste, or smell. (Sight and hearing, they thought, 
affect us mainly by exciting sympathy.) The pleasures and 
pains of the mind, i.e. aesthetic feelings, those arising from 
memory or expectation, and those arising from sympathy 
with others, were therefore regarded as of less impor- 
tance. However, this point was not of fundamental im- 
portance, and some later members of the school modified it 
considerably. 1 

Application to Moral Values. — And now, what is virtue ? 
Virtue consists in whatever qualities of mind enable the 
possessor to get pleasure and avoid pain ; and in this use 
alone their value consists. Of these qualities wisdom is the 
chief, — so far Socrates was right, — but it is not the only one. 
There are virtues which even the fool may possess, such as a 
cheerful and confident disposition. Wisdom is not in itself 
sufficient to insure an unbroken succession of pleasures. 
But the wise man is for the most part happy, and the foolish 
man is generally unhappy. Wisdom brings with it release 
from three of the main sources of pain: envy, passionate 
desire, and superstition; for all these arise from vain opinions. 
Aristippus gave special warning against the second of these. 
That we should master pleasures and not be mastered by 

1 Anniceris is especially mentioned as laying emphasis upon the pleasures 
of sympathy. Theodoras even declared that physical pleasures and pains 
were indifferent — that the only real good and evil were the joy and grief 
that spring from wisdom and folly. But this was going far toward rigorism. 



126 INTRODUCTION TO. THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

them l is his best-known maxim. To be too fond of one 
pleasure is to be blind to others. We should make the most 
of what is at hand, without longing for what is absent. 

As for the just and the honorable, they are merely what 
law and custom make them. But they are not for that 
reason unimportant. The good man does nothing unseemly, 
for he has a wise regard for punishment and social oppro- 
brium. Friendship is an excellent thing. The friend is use- 
ful much as an arm or leg is, and should be prized accord- 
ingly. 

II. Othek Hedonists 

Plato and Eudoxos. — The system, it will be seen, is beauti- 
fully simple, and for that reason it has been attractive to 
many men. Outside of the Cyrenaic school the pleasure- 
theory found important advocates. Plato, in an early work 
(the Protagoras), adopted in a tentative way the main prin- 
ciples of the school, but tried to show that wisdom ought 
still to be considered as the sum of all virtue. We always 
choose, he says, the greatest apparent pleasure, but we do 
not always compare pleasures correctly. The art of life 
is a sort of calculus, by which pleasures, present and future, 
are measured against each other. To be l mastered by 
pleasure ' is really to be mastered by ignorance of its relative 
smallness. It seems probable that this criticism had a deep 
effect upon the development of the theory. However, in 
later works he rejects the whole theory decisively. One of 
his pupils,the astronomer Eudoxos, reverted to it, and added 
to the older arguments in its support the curious new one, that 
pleasure must be the supreme good because it is above praise. 

Epicurus. — But the most important of the ancient advo- 
cates of pleasure is Epicurus (341-270 B.C.) ; not for the 
originality of his work, indeed, but for its extraordinary 

1 This is the purport of the ancient anecdote, which relates that when 
Aristippus was reproached for being a lover of Lais, the Corinthian courtesan, 
he replied : "I am not her lover. She is mine." 



HEDONISM 127 

success. After a very superficial education, he established 
(in 306 B.C.) a school in Athens, which maintained his 
teachings without essential change for over six hundred years, 
and during the greater part of this time exerted a powerful 
world-wide influence. This success was no doubt due in 
part to personal qualities in Epicurus, for he was a man who 
inspired both love and admiration. (His followers to the 
latest days called themselves after his name, Epicureans.) 
But it was mainly due to the fact that he worked out a scheme 
of life, by following which the wise man might assure himself 
of happiness. For it is one thing to tell men of what happi- 
ness consists, and leave them, perhaps, to despair of securing 
it for themselves ; 1 and it is another thing to promise it. 

General Resemblance to Aristippus. — With this definite 
promise of happiness all that is original in Epicurus's teach- 
ings is closely connected. Meanwhile the general structure 
of his ethical system is precisely the same as with Aristippus. 
That pleasure is good and pain evil needs no proof. All 
animals from birth naturally seek the one and avoid the 
other ; and so do we. Pleasure feels good, just as fire feels 
warm, snow looks white, or honey tastes sweet. No man 
willingly gives up a sum of pleasure except to avoid pain; 
no man accepts an unnecessary amount of pain except in 
order to secure pleasure. The virtues — wisdom, temper- 
ance, courage, and justice — are the necessary and (as Epi- 
curus adds) sufficient means of securing happiness, and in 
this consists their value. Wisdom is the architect of the 
happy life and frees us from the turbulence of the passions ; 
temperance makes the most of things ; courage dispels imag- 
inary evils; and justice wins the good will of the public. 

1 Certain of the later Cyrenaics, led by Hegesias, the "persuader unto 
death," even held that the happy life was an impossible ideal — that escape 
from labor and pain was the most that could be looked for. As was pointed 
out in ancient times, Epicurus's position is not without its likeness to that of 
Hegesias ; the great difference being that Epicurus frankly identifies absence 
of pain with the ideal itself. 



128 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Friendship, too, is precious as a fountainhead of pleasure 
and a bulwark against misfortune. Superstition is recog- 
nized as a prime cause of unnecessary suffering; and Epi- 
curus by teaching that death ends all (so that there is nothing 
in it to fear), and that the gods in their eternal bliss are too 
far above us to think of interfering in human affairs, 1 believed 
that he was bestowing a great blessing upon men. 

Absence of Pain the Greatest Pleasure. — Of the distinc- 
tive features in his view, the most important is the doctrine, 
that between pain and pleasure there is no middle ground 
of indifference, but that with the total removal of pain one 
already enjoys the most intense pleasure. To us this is apt 
to seem ridiculous ; but the Greeks had a great love for calm 
(yaXrjvrj), and such an exaltation of it appealed to many as 
perfectly just. 

Higher and Lower Pleasures. — A second feature is the 
express recognition of the distinction between higher and 
lower pleasures, though these are not understood as ultimate 
qualitative terms. The lower pleasures are those which are 
mixed with pain or followed by painful consequences. The 
higher pleasures are free from evil admixture or after-effect : 
they are literally purer. This distinction led to the exalta- 
tion of social and intellectual pleasures over the indulgence 
of physical appetites, and the mode of life of the genuine 
Epicurean became a very sober affair. 

The Storehouse of Memory. Suicide. — Closely con- 
nected is the cult of pleasant memories. With these, thought 
Epicurus, one could so store one's mind that even amid the 
worst tortures one could preserve a balance of pleasure. 2 

1 Supposed cases of divine interference were all to be explained mechani- 
cally, according to an atomic theory of matter, modeled after that of Democ- 
ritus of Abdera. Epicurus's physics, however, is an exceedingly childish 
affair. Like Aristippus, he was ignorant of mathematics. 

2 He himself, while dying in great pain, wrote to a friend: "All these 
sufferings are counterbalanced by the joy in the memory of our past dis- 
cussions." 



HEDONISM 129 

Pain " when severe is short and when long is moderate " ; 
and if we will but banish it from our memories it is more than 
half conquered. Still, if pains persist in returning and nag- 
ging at us, and life has lost its charm, it is always possible 
to leave it as one would a tasteless comedy ; and this thought 
must always be a comfort. 

NOTE 

With all its simplicity, the pleasure-theory contains several 
distinct elements which we shall do well to distinguish. 

I. There is the general theory of values : that for each man his own 
pleasure and pain are alone good and evil (desirable and objection- 
able) in themselves ; and that everything else is good or evil to him, 
in so far as it brings him pleasure or pain. This is called simply 
hedonism (from rjbovfj, pleasure). 

Ila. In ancient times the foregoing theory is generally based 
upon a certain theory as to the objects of desire and aversion : that no 
animal desires anything except pleasure for its own sake, or avoids 
anything except pain for its own sake ; all things else being desired 
or avoided on account of the pleasure or pain expected from them. 
This is called psychological hedonism, or the selfish theory. It is 
easily seen that the hedonistic theory of values might be held, 
while this support was rejected; for could one not naively desire 
things for their own sake, even though upon reflection one were 
compelled to admit that their real value consisted in their pleasure- 
producing properties ? 

b. Some Epicureans held that as a result of habit one could come 
to desire the happiness of a friend for its own sake ; and modern 
hedonists have applied this theory much more widely. 

III. There is a theory of moral values. It is held that the goodness 
of virtue and the evilness of vice consist in their tendency to pro- 
duce pleasure and pain respectively. This is called ethical hedonism. 
It is, of course, only the application to moral values of the general 
theory of values. It is found in two varieties, the one characteristic 
of ancient ethics, the other of modern ethics : 

a. Only the individual's own pleasure or pain (and hence only the 
value of bis virtue or vice to himself) is counted. This is called 
egoistic hedonism. 

b. Virtue (or vice) in conduct or character consists in its tendency 
to increase (or decrease) the general sum of pleasure in society at 
large. This is called universalistic hedonism, or utilitarianism. 

K 



130 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The terminology is somewhat confusing, and the student is 
especially in danger of failing to distinguish between the selfish 
theory and egoistic hedonism. This error must be avoided. The 
selfish theory has, in fact, often been entertained by utilitarians. 

REFERENCES 

Plato, Protagoras. 

Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Books IX, X. 

Cicero, De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, Books I, II. 

Grote, G., Plato and the Other Companions of Socrates, Ch. 
XXXVIII. 

Zeller, E., Socrates and the Socratic Schools, Ch. XIV; Stoics, Epi- 
cureans, and Sceptics, Chs. XIX, XX. 

Gomperz, T., Greek Thinkers, Book IV, Ch. IX. 

Watson, J., Hedonistic Theories, Chs. II, III. 

Wallace, W., Epicureanism, Ch. VII. 

Taylor, A. E., Epicurus. 

Hicks, R. D., Stoic and Epicurean, Ch. V. 

Muirhead, J. H. Elements of Ethics, Book III, Ch. I. 

Thilly, F., Introduction to Ethics, Ch. VI. 

Wright, H. W., Self -Realization, Part II, Ch. II. 



CHAPTER VIII 

ENERGISM 
I. General Features of Ancient Energism 

The Appeal of Energism. — If hedonism is attractive to 
many minds by reason of its simplicity, it is repulsive to many 
others by reason of its prosaic bareness. To reduce all the 
values of human experience to a dead level — to measure 
poetry and morality, or even athletic sport, as one measures 
the pleasures of the table — will always seem to some minds 
a grossly mistaken project. 

The theory of energism, or self-realization, avoids this dead- 
leveling. It starts from man in the fullness of his many- 
sided nature ; and it conceives of happiness as the symmetri- 
cally rounded life of such a man. Instead of attempting 
to eliminate variety, it admits it on principle. Happiness 
is pleasant, but that is only the beginning of its characteris- 
tics. As different human faculties come into play, different 
kinds of pleasure are experienced ; and to eliminate from the 
description of the happy life the differences of kind, is to fal- 
sify the description through and through. 

Self-realization is an aim that appeals to honorable pride 
and ambition. The very notion that there is in oneself an 
immanent ideal to be realized is to many men inspiring. To 
one who has once felt this inspiration the proposal to look 
for happiness in uniform bits of pleasure such as any beast 
might feel will always seem ignoble. It is not a mere matter 
of argument. It is a temperamental reaction. One feels 
that hedonism may have truth in it, but that it does not do 
justice to the dignity of man. 

131 



132 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Plato and Aristotle : their Common Features. — In the 
present chapter we have to consider two ancient theories 
of self-realization, those of Plato and Aristotle. Both are 
comprehensively designed and minutely developed theories ; 
and they cannot be satisfactorily understood without much 
attention to detail. But there are certain general charac- 
teristics of the two theories that may easily be lost sight of 
in a detailed treatment, and that ought to be understood 
throughout. 

1. The capacities of human nature are supposed to be fixed 
in advance. The soul has a certain set of faculties to be exer- 
cised. Life consists in exercising them. Neither Plato nor 
Aristotle contemplates the possibility (which is very real to 
us) that the higher faculties of man are products of social 
culture. They realize, indeed, that among civilized men 
certain faculties are exercised which their barbaric ancestors 
could not exercise; for example, the intuition of abstract 
truths. But the reason, as they see it, is merely that those 
ancestors lacked the necessary security and leisure. The ad- 
vance of civilization simply makes possible the realization of 
inner potentialities that have all along been latent. 

2. Moreover, the capacities of the individual, as well as of 
the race, are fixed in advance. Most men are defective. 
One or more of the faculties is feeble or even completely want- 
ing in them. For most men, therefore, happiness in the full 
sense of the term is impossible. 

3. The set of human faculties is an ordered system, in which 
each has a definite rank. And men are of different rank ac- 
cording to the faculties which they manifest. 

4. The lowest of men's faculties (such as hunger) they have 
in common with the beasts. On the other hand, the highest 
faculty, and the rarest, is more than human, for it is common 
to the human and the divine nature. This is pure reason. 
Simply to know truth, with no further end in view — that is 
the utmost of which man is capable. All lower activities 



ENERGISM 133 

may rightly be regarded as only the external conditions of 
this one. And the great bulk of mankind, who are incapable 
of pure reason, serve no higher purpose in the economy of 
nature than to give peace and leisure to the favored few. 

5. Plato and Aristotle thought of the individual as, pri- 
marily, the citizen,. Life meant for them, first and foremost, 
civic life. Plato's principal ethical work is the Republic; 
and Aristotle expressly treats ethics as a branch of politics. 
But it is noteworthy that both conceived of the life of reason 
as ultimately an individual life. The state must establish 
the conditions under which leisure to think is possible ; and 
it is in the contact of friend with friend that the [stimulus 
and direction of scientific inquiry are found. But, in the 
last resort, what a man knows, it is he that knows. The 
supreme happiness of contemplation each must enjoy for 
himself alone. 

Thus the ancient energism, as represented by these preemi- 
nent thinkers, is anti-evolutionary, aristocratic, intellectualistic } 
and, in the last resort, individualistic. 

II. Plato 

Comprehensiveness of his Thought. — The great signifi- 
cance of Plato's ethics (as of all his thought) lies in its syn- 
thetic character. It is the result of a large-minded attempt to 
do justice to all the various one-sided views which others had 
assumed. His chief inspiration came from Socrates ; but 
in the working out of his system Protagoras's conception of 
specific moral feelings, trained to their part by habituation, 
has a subordinate, but very important place. By the rigor- 
ist Antisthenes he was probably not affected ; difference of 
character, as well as of social position, put a chasm between 
them. But that virtue is a good in itself, and not simply as 
a means to pleasure, was a doctrine that early appealed to his 
own generous nature. Aristippus, on the other hand, he 
regarded as an able thinker, with whom his account had to 



134 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

be made ; and he returns to the discussion of the pleasure 
theory repeatedly in the course of his long literary career. 

Life. — Plato, better than any other man, represents the 
spirit of aristocracy in ethical thought. Born in a noble 
and wealthy family (of which he was intensely proud) he had 
an unmixed contempt for the masses of mankind. Under 
the influence of Socrates, however, he came to believe in an 
aristocracy of intellect rather than of mere birth, though al- 
ways believing that the lowly born and the hopelessly stupid 
were generally the same. From his youth he moved in liter- 
ary and philosophical circles. With Socrates he was asso- 
ciated from his twentieth year. After the death of Socrates, 
he traveled widely, visiting Egypt, Cyrene, southern Italy, 
and Sicily, pursuing the study of mathematics, and thus 
becoming intimately acquainted with members of the Pythag- 
orean religious society, in which mathematics had been ex- 
tensively cultivated . The influence of this study upon his ethi- 
cal theory will call for our attention. On his return to Athens, 
he founded a philosophical institute, which was called (from 
the neighboring ' gymnasium ' or public park) the Academy. 
Here, except for two later visits to Syracuse (where he un- 
successfully attempted to influence the younger Dionysius 
in favor of his advanced political ideas) he spent the remain- 
der of his life, and here his great work was done : oral teach- 
ing, varied by literary production in which the highest talents 
of the poet, the systematic thinker, and the religious enthu- 
siast are combined. 

Ethical Writings. — Plato recognized that his own phi- 
losophy was an outgrowth of that of Socrates ; and his earliest 
dialogues (such as the Hippias Minor, Protagoras, Laches, 
Charmides, and Euthyphro) are largely devoted to the ex- 
position and defense of Socrates's views. But the Socrates 
of these dialogues is most keenly interested in bringing to 
light certain of the difficulties involved in the historical 
Socrates's position ; in part self-contradictions, in part dis- 



ENERGISM 135 

agreements with common moral experience. The ethical 
doctrines contained in the dialogues of his middle and later 
years (the Gorgias, Meno, Phaedo, and Republic, and the 
Philebus and Laws) may be regarded as the result of an at- 
tempt to solve these difficulties in the master's own spirit. 

1. The Virtues in General 

Goodness in General. — If we examine into the conditions 
under which anything is called * good,' we always find a 
definiteness of proportion in the relation of its various parts. 
Any artist or artisan in his work chooses, in the first place, 
materials that he can shape in a certain way, and then fits 
them together in an orderly and systematic fashion. So 
also the physical trainer does not try to make any one muscle 
as strong as possible, but to develop the whole body sym- 
metrically. Carry the induction as far as we may, we find 
that goodness is always marked by orderliness and regularity, 
badness by disorder. 

The Virtues. — The soul is no exception. Its proper con- 
dition, or excellence, is marked by order. And this is what 
we call temperance, courage, justice, and piety; and the in- 
sight by which the order is established we call wisdom. 
This insight is either knowledge (which it must be if the virtue 
is to be permanent and thoroughly trustworthy) or right 
opinion, which is all that most men possess. (In this recog- 
nition of common-sense morality as possessing a certain 
value despite the absence of exact knowledge, Plato success- 
fully tones down one of Socrates's extreme views.) 

Distinction Between the Virtues : Earlier Theory. — If 
now we proceed to ask how these virtues are distinguished 
and interrelated, Plato's first answer (in the Gorgias) is that 
temperance, courage, justice, and piety are all the same 
quality of orderliness seen in different relations. Temper- 
ance is orderliness as such. Piety and justice are orderli- 
ness as it manifests itself in conduct toward gods and men 



136 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

respectively. Courage is orderliness as manifested in the 
pursuit or avoidance of anticipated goods and evils. The 
essential condition of all is wisdom ; for we must follow Soc- 
rates in asserting that a man always acts as seems best to 
him at the time. 

Mature Theory : the Problem. — But in his most impor- 
tant ethical work, the Republic, Plato's theory has very 
materially developed. In the first place, he is no longer 
content to define the virtues in terms of relations to various 
objects or situations. He insists upon knowing what they 
are in themselves, as qualities of the soul itself. In the second 
place, he has given up Socrates's extreme intellectualism, 
which, indeed, had been more apparent than real, and had 
shown its inadequacy the more clearly to Plato, as he 
learned from the example of geometry what an exact science 
really is. 

Analysis of the Soul. — He now finds that the soul con- 
sists of several distinct and partly independent parts, or 
faculties. First, there is reason, by which we have knowledge 
and opinion. Secondly, there are the appetites, which are 
due to the soul's union with a body that is subject to constant 
wants. Reason and appetite have nothing in common. 
But there is a third faculty which has something of the 
nature of both. The ' spirited element ' it is called ; by which 
is meant susceptibility to the emotions that hold a man up to 
a standard of personal dignity : honor, shame, indignation. 
This is like reason in the fact that it has standards ; and, in- 
deed, these standards are given it by reason, though it has 
to be trained to recognize them. It is like appetite in the way 
in which it impels men to action. Now reason has no direct 
control over appetite, on account of their utter dissimilarity. 
There is no argument against hunger. It is only through the 
spirited element, by means of the standards of self-respect 
which are set up, that reason is able to hold appetite in check. 
The Socratic axiom, that every man chooses what seems to 



ENERGISM 137 

him best, holds good, then, only in so far as the spirited ele- 
ment has been brought by training into conformity with 
reason. 

Analogy of the Man and the State. — Upon this analysis 
of the soul, Plato now bases his classification of the virtues. 
In order to guide his procedure, he calls into play an elaborate 
analogy between the individual and the state. The state 
contains three kinds of citizens, distinguished by the predomi- 
nance in them of one or the other of the mental faculties : 
the philosophers, or men of intelligence ; the warriors, or men 
of honor; and the artisans and merchants, or men of 
greed. In an ideally ordered state the first would direct 
the whole administration of war and peace, for they alone 
can know what is best. But because the men of greed are 
unamenable to reason the only way in which they can be 
governed is through, the men of honor. The warriors 
must be trained to act in accordance with the standards 
which the philosophers impose upon them, and they must 
then forcibly keep the industrial; and commercial class in 
order. 

The Virtues in the State. — What are the peculiar excel- 
lences of which these several classes are capable? The wis- 
dom of the state is, of course, lodged in the philosopher- 
rulers; it is their insight into the common welfare. The 
courage of the state belongs to the warriors ; it is their fidel- 
ity to the standards of honor, to which they have been 
trained. The industrial class, base creatures, are capable 
of no virtue except as the warriors, directed by the philoso- 
phers, impose it on them. They may be forced to put such 
a limit to their cupidity as the welfare of the whole state de- 
mands, i.e. to be temperate. As for justice, that belongs to 
no class, but to the state as a whole. It is simply the 
division of labor between the classes, by which each performs 
its own function without loss of efficiency through friction or 
misapplied effort. 



138 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS % 

The Virtues in the Individual. — As applied to the individ- 
ual, wisdom, the knowledge of the good, is the virtue of 
reason. Courage is the virtue of the rationally trained 
spirited element. Temperance is the virtue imposed by- 
reason, through the spirited element, upon the cowed appe- 
tites. And justice is the harmonious functioning of all the 
faculties. 1 

Plato was a restless thinker, and there are indications that 
he continued to remodel his ethical doctrine, as well as other 
parts of his philosophy. But this is his latest systematic 
account of the virtues, and there is at least one feature in it 
that remained undisturbed to the end. It is the conception 
of the soul as a complex unity, containing a rational and an 
irrational 2 element, the latter requiring training under the 
direction of the former in order to acquire its proper virtue. 
All virtue is not knowledge, but knowledge is essential to a 
high development of virtue — though, as we have seen, 
the knowledge may belong, not to the individual in question, 
but to those by whom he is trained and governed. 

The question arises, how wisdom itself is acquired. The 
answer involves the whole of Plato's metaphysics. We 
must be content with a mere sketch of the leading notions. 

2. Wisdom 

The Theory of Eternal Forms. — Whenever we attempt a 
scientific definition (Plato observed), it is always of something 
assumed to be perfect, a standard of its kind. We define 

1 This seems far-fetched, and except for the analogy of the state it would 
lack all plausibility. But the student must remember that Plato's problem 
is to define justice as it exists in the just man, considered entirely apart from 
his relations to other men. So also the justice of the state is defined entirely 
without reference to its relations with other states. Plato's conception is 
that if the inner harmony exists, the external harmony will follow as a matter 
of course. 

2 We group together under this term the spirited element and the ap- 
petites. 



ENERGISM 139 

types, not the particular things of ordinary sense-experience, 
with their multitude of peculiarities and imperfections. The 
straight line of science is not the edge of a ruler, or the path 
of a swift projectile, or even the line of vision. It is absolutely 
straight, as these are not. 

Now it was a widely accepted maxim of philosophy that 
the knowable is the real; that whereas what appears to the 
senses and impresses itself upon our unscientific opinion is 
either flitting phenomenon, passing from non-existence to exist- 
ence and back again with the course of time, or else a mere 
illusion of ignorance, what is manifest to reason is eternal. 
Plato boldly drew the conclusion that the true reality is not 
the world of space and time, but a system of eternal typical 
forms (€iSj7, or IBeac ; the latter term is often anglicized as 
1 ideas/ which is sadly confusing). And since, in the last 
resort, the apparent can only be explained in terms of the 
real, he concluded that the form-world is the true cause of the 
sensible world — that all the definable character of the latter 
is due to the active presence in it of the forms. Thus a ruler 
is straight because the form of straightness inheres in it ; the 
wheel is round because roundness is in it ; Socrates is tem- 
perate because temperance is in him, and just because jus- 
tice is in him. That they are imperfect is due to matter, 
which all phenomena contain, and which is the source of all 
those individual irregularities of which science takes no ac- 
count. 

The Hierarchy of Forms. — A similar relation exists among 
the forms themselves. For they are of different degrees; 
and the higher ones inhere in the lower and give them char- 
acter, just as the forms in general do to sensible things. 
Thus the circle is a line because of linearity; justice and 
temperance are good because of goodness. Goodness is the 
supreme form, for it inheres in all the others. (They are all 
good, and every sensible thing is good in so far as it exempli- 
fies its type. That is why goodness in anything is always 



140 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

marked by regularity.) Hence goodness is the ultimate 
cause of all things ; and since things are explained by reveal- 
ing their causes, the conception of goodness is the ultimate 
explanation of everything, temporal or eternal. 

The Conceptions of the Forms — Suggested by Particular 
Things. — The question, how wisdom is acquired, resolves 
itself, therefore, into the question, how the conceptions of 
the several virtues, and finally of goodness itself, are brought 
to mind. There is a curious difficulty here. All the tem- 
perance, justice, etc., which we have ever seen in men, is 
imperfect; and yet it is evidently from the observation of 
such examples that we arrive at the conception of the per- 
fect forms. How is this possible ? A similar question arises 
in connection with the conceptions of geometry. No one of 
us has ever seen a perfect square or circle. The physical 
objects to which we apply these terms, even the diagrams 
which we draw to exemplify them, are far from geometrical 
exactness. Yet it is clear that without having perceived 
these imperfect instances, the exact conceptions would never 
have occurred to us. Obviously the physical objects suggest 
the perfect types — let us say, by reason of their resemblance 
to them. 1 The same is, of course, true of virtuous men and 
deeds. They suggest to us the conceptions of the virtues in 
their purity. 

The Spontaneity of Reason. — But when one thing brings 
another to mind by reason of the resemblance between 
them, the latter thing cannot be something that is alto- 
gether strange to us. If the sight of a man calls up his 
brother's face, the image of the brother must have been lin- 
gering in our memory ; we must have seen him at some time. 
Then if the geometrical diagram or the good man's conduct 
suggests to us the perfect square or circle or the perfect vir- 
tues, must we not have had some previous intuition of these 

1 This is the view presented in the Phcedo, and will suffice for our purpose 
here. 



ENERGISM 141 

absolute types? Plato was at first inclined to answer this 
question in the affirmative, and concluded that we must have 
had an existence before this present life, when the intuition 
of the perfect types was enjoyed. Later, however, he 
dropped this fantastical theory — perhaps he never seriously 
committed himself to it — in favor of the simpler conclusion, 
that the conceptions of geometrical and ethical types belong 
to the structure of our minds. We are built in such a fashion, 
that when the appropriate suggestions come we spontaneously 
think these thoughts. So it is, he thinks, with all possible 
science. 

The Development of Wisdom. — Now this implies that the 
virtue of wisdon belongs naturally to all men that are capable 
of it. 1 It needs no training by means of habit and exercise, 
as other virtues do, but simply an awakening through appro- 
priate suggestions. This is the significance of the Socratic 
method, by which a mere series of questions suffices to lead 
us from ignorance to knowledge. All knowledge sets out 
from the things of sense-experience, passing from these to 
the lowest forms (those of mathematics), and gradually 
mounting higher and higher till it reaches the private and 
public virtues, and, last of all, goodness itself. 

Supreme Value of Wisdom. — So much for the nature and 
origin of wisdom. A word must be added as to the relation 
between wisdom and the other virtues. Let us consider first 
the classes in the ideal state. It is the ruler's knowledge 
of the eternal forms that is the source of all the other public 
virtues. But this is not its only value. To the rulers them- 
selves it is its least value. They realize that it is only in a 
well-ordered community that men like themselves could 
ever develop. They realize, too, that the service of the state 
calls for the exercise of all the faculties of the mind, from the 
lowest to the highest. And yet they regard the work of 

1 Plato thinks that as a matter of fact only a very few men are capable of 
wisdom — &pdpti)TT(i)P y4vos (Upaxt rt. 



142 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

government, not as a supreme self-realization, but as an un- 
avoidable distraction from their highest calling — the con- 
templation of eternal reality. It is the same in the individual. 
The highest function of reason is not the guidance of conduct, 
but pure theory. As Plato expressed it, in language which 
has been much admired, the whole life of the philosopher is 
a preparation for death, i.e. a withdrawal as far as possible 
from the body and its impressions and impulses. 1 He is 
a man, to be sure, and not a god, and the wants of the body 
are ever with him ; and so he controls them as best he may. 
But so far as he can he puts himself in a sphere where courage, 
temperance, and even justice have no place — the realm of 
pure theory. 

This is the feature of Plato's philosophy that called forth 
the tremendous protest of stoicism. 

3. Pleasure 

Insufficiency of Hedonism. — We must now turn to an as- 
pect of Plato's theory which has had the strongest influence 
upon later thought — his treatment of pleasure. It has 
been said that he was early inclined to accept a hedonism in 
which all virtue was reduced to wisdom in the calculation of 
pleasures and pains. But with the development of his views 
an identification of pleasure and goodness became impossible 
for him. For goodness meant for him an eternal objective 
reality; and pleasure is only too obviously an evanescent 
feeling. Besides, to seek the greatest possible amount of 
pleasure seemed to imply that one let one's desires of all 
sorts grow to the full extent of one's power to satisfy them ; 
and this clearly left out of account the character of regu- 
larity and symmetry which a good state of the soul ought 
to have. 

1 It should be observed that according to Plato's theory of immortality 
it is the bodiless reason alone — not the appetites or even the half-congenial 
emotions of honor — that lives on. 



ENERGISM 143 

Classification of Goods. — Nevertheless he was ready to 
admit that unmixed pleasure is a good, and unmixed pain 
an evil ; and he saw also that the experience of any good is 
indirectly or directly pleasant. Thus he recognizes three 
classes of goods : (1) those that are good in themselves, but 
not otherwise ; (2) those that are good as means to ulterior 
ends; and (3) those that are good both as means and as 
ends. These are (1) the pleasant (i.e., unmixed pleasures, 
from which no painful consequences proceed ; (2) the use- 
jul; and (3) the both pleasant and useful. The odor of a 
violet is an example of the first; uncongenial work, of the 
second ; and vigorous health, of the third. 

Beauty is the same as goodness : it is goodness as it appeals 
to man's spirited element. It is this which makes the well- 
trained youth love goodness before he is able to distinguish it 
rationally. Beauty has, of course, the same divisions as 
goodness as such. The beauty of a bell-tone, that of a 
spear, and that of a ship may serve as examples. 

Virtue is placed by Plato in the third class of goods : those 
that are good both as means and as ends. That virtue is 
generally useful, is conceded ; and a due examination of the 
conditions of social pleasures, and of the peace and security 
which are necessary for the full enjoyment of even physical 
pleasures, shows that the usefulness of virtue is great beyond 
all comparison. But, apart from its usefulness, it has a value 
in itself which exceeds every other known to men. For 
nothing can be so essential to a man's happiness as the proper 
state of his soul. 

Qualitative Differences Between Pleasures. — Why is not 
this to all practical intents a hedonism? Let goodness-in- 
itself be what you please ; if goodness as we experience it is 
always pleasant, what more could Aristippus ask for? Ad- 
mit that it is goodness, not pleasantness that makes anything 
good ; if the two are inseparable, what is the difference ? 
Plato's answer is that hedonism fails to take account of two 



144 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

essential considerations: first, that the good (as has been 
shown) everywhere exhibits order and symmetry ; secondly, 
that pleasures differ in kind, and this difference in kind 
affects their value, so that a lesser amount of pleasure may 
often be better than a greater amount of another kind. The 
description of the good simply as pleasant is, therefore, one- 
sided and misleading. 1 

More explicitly, he believes that pleasures differ according 
to the faculty whose exercise gives rise to them. There are 
pleasures of satisfied appetite, pleasures of glory, and pleasures 
of knowledge. It is idle to compare these quantitatively. 
How, then, are we to determine their order of worth? The 
industrial class, the warriors, and the philosophers each 
maintain that their own kind of pleasure is the best. But 
it is to be observed that the artisans and merchants have 
felt only the pleasures of appetite; the warriors have felt 
these and glory too ; the philosophers alone have felt them 
all. Their testimony, therefore, is the only competent one ; 
and we may conclude that to know is the highest pleasure of 
which man is capable. 

III. Aristotle 

Relation to Plato. — The ethics of Aristotle differs from 
that of Plato's riper years less in its contents than in its 
metaphysical basis. There is a similar distinction between 
intellectual and moral virtue (to use Aristotle's terms), the 
former developed by instruction, the latter by training. 
There is a similar interpretation of moral virtue as consist- 

1 Plato's direct arguments against hedonism are for the most part of only 
historical interest. (1) Good and evil are logical contraries, i.e. as anything 
increases in goodness it decreases in badness, and vice versa. But in the 
satisfaction of desire, the desire itself is painful, and the appeasing of it is 
pleasant; and yet as the desire diminishes the pleasure of appeasing it 
diminishes also, and they finally cease together. Hence pleasure and pain 
are not logical contraries, and cannot be identical with good and evil. 
(2) The good in anything makes it good, and the evil in it makes it evil. But 



ENERGISM 145 

ing in measured symmetry. There is the same exaltation 
of truth for truth's sake above all other human interests, and 
of the intellectual few above the masses. There is the same 
treatment of pleasure, as belonging to all happiness, but as 
differing in quality according to the faculty that is active 
in experiencing it; and consequently the same rejection of 
hedonism as a very one-sided account of the nature of the 
happy life. We find, however, a great advance in precision 
of statement, due in part to controversy with other pupils 
of Plato. 

Life. — Aristotle of Stagira belonged to a family of physi- 
cians ; and his philosophy is largely due to a revision of Plato's 
mathematically minded theories in the light of biological 
evidences. He was a member of the Academy, as pupil and 
as teacher, from his nineteenth to his thirty-eighth year, 
when Plato died. Later he was for three years the tutor 
of the young prince Alexander of Macedon. In 335 B.C. 
he returned to Athens and established a new philosophical 
school near the gymnasium called the Lyceum. (His fol- 
lowers were known as peripatetics, i.e. strollers, from their 
conversations in the shady walks of the gymnasium.) Here 
he labored until the death of Alexander, when his unpopu- 
larity with the masses made it dangerous for him to remain 
in Athens. He died in Chalcis in the following year. 

1. Metaphysical Basis 

Form and Matter. — Aristotle's most striking divergence 
from Plato's philosophy is seen in his doctrine that reality 
is not mere form, but the concrete individual, to which both 

pleasure in a man makes him not good but pleased ; and pain in him makes 
him not evil but pained. Both of these arguments obviously confuse the 
presence of a quality in consciousness, with the inherence of a quality in an 
object. Here, as so often in the history of human thought, the man's 
hostile criticisms are of far less moment than his positive suggestions. It is 
because Plato feels that energism is true that he casts about for arguments 
to prove that hedonism is false. 
L 



146 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

form and matter belong. With one exception (to be noted 
shortly) the forms have no existence except as they are 
exemplified in material things. If all the particular horses 
in the world were destroyed, the form of the horse would 
never be able to impress itself upon matter again. Aristotle 
admits, however, that all the definable character of things 
is due to the forms ; that the forms are unchangeable ; 
and that they alone are strictly knowable. Matter means, 
in fact, only the potentiality of receiving form ; while form is 
what anything actually and definitely is. There is no un- 
formed matter, for that would be mere indefiniteness. But 
a pure form must be the most real thing in the world ; for 
it is actual through and through, eternal, and changeless. 
By arguments which we cannot here reproduce, Aristotle 
identifies this pure form with a Mind, whose only activity 
is the contemplation of the eternal truths which its own 
nature contains ; which Aristotle regards as a truly divine 
bliss. 

The Functions of the Soul. — Again, with Aristotle, the 
relation of higher to lower forms is not simply that the higher 
inhere in the lower and thus give them character. It is that 
the higher form supervenes upon the lower form, carrying 
the development of the individual to a higher stage. Thus 
inorganic matter has a certain form, or character. But the 
plant has all this and more; for in the plant a higher form, 
namely, the vegetable ' soul ' (or vital principle), has super- 
vened upon the inorganic form ; so that the merely physical 
properties of the plant are subordinate to the functions of 
nutrition and reproduction. So the animal is all that the 
plant is and more ; for its vegetable functions are subordinate 
to the functions of sense-perception (including memory and 
imagination), pleasure and pain, desire, and locomotion, 
which are the functions of the animal soul. So also man is 
an animal and more. The distinctively human faculty, i.e. 
reason, has no direct connection with the body ; but it acts 



ENERGISM 147 

upon the animal faculties in man, developing perception into 
inductive knowledge, and desire into intelligent will. And 
in addition reason has two functions of its own, in which it is 
like the divine mind : intuition of first principles, and deduc- 
tion of other truths from these. 

Goodness. — As for the form of the good, Aristotle denies 
that there is any. Goodness is not a single attribute which 
all good things have in common. There is no common qual- 
ity belonging to a good grape, a good reputation, a good judg- 
ment, and a good action. Goodness includes any number of 
qualities, held together only by their similar relation to our 
happiness, i.e. as parts of it or as somehow contributing 
to it. Moreover, if there were a form of the good, it would 
be of no importance for ethics. For ethics has nothing to 
do with a good apart from us, but only with the good of 
human experience ; namely, happiness. 

2. Happiness 

Various Theories of Happiness. — When we ask what it is 
that is good, not as a means to further ends, but as an end 
in itself for which all else is valued, men are well agreed in 
answering : Happiness. But as to what happiness is, they 
differ greatly. Is it something such as health or wealth or 
honor, as most men think ? Or is it pleasure or knowledge or 
virtue generally, or a combination of these, as philosophers 
have thought? Grant that these things (or most of them) 
are sometimes desired for their own sakes ; by ' happiness ' 
we mean something that is always desired for its own sake, 
and never for the sake of anything else. This at once clearly 
rules out all the above except pleasure ; for even knowledge 
and virtue are desired for the sake of happiness. It must 
be added, that happiness is thought of as all-sufficient, so 
that no addition of anything else could make a more desir- 
able sum. It is the most desirable of all things. This 
excludes pleasure, too. For who would be willing to be a 



148 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

lifelong imbecile, though he was to enjoy the most intense 
childish pleasures all the time? Moreover, things like 
sight, memory, and the various virtues, are pleasant, indeed ; 
but we should desire them even if they were not. We thus 
require not simply pleasure, but pleasure of a certain quality, 
and, more than that, the various kinds of concrete experience 
with which pleasure comes. 

The Best Life. — What, then, is happiness? Surely a 
kind of life, that is to say, the best life. But life is the ac- 
tivity of the soul. If we wish to find the best life, we must 
see what the soul's faculties are, and especially what faculties 
are peculiar to man ; for we do not think of plants or even 
animals as being ' happy ' in the same sense in which man 
may be. Passing over, therefore, the functions of nutrition 
and reproduction, and those of mere sensation and impulse, 
we may say that the happiness of man is to be found in the 
life of his rational nature — including, of course, that of his 
senses and appetites in so far as they are controlled by reason, 
as well as the activities of pure reason itself. Within these 
limits, if it should appear that any one function (say pure 
thought) was the real end of the others, happiness would lie 
in it. 

Relation of Happiness to Virtue. — But a faculty may 
function well or ill, as is evident in such cases as digestion 
and sight and hearing ; and this is true also of the rational 
nature. By happiness, or the best life, we mean, of course, 
right functioning. But if that is to be possible, the faculty 
must be in a certain normal condition ; and this we call its 
excellence, or virtue. Happiness may therefore be defined 
as " the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue, or (if 
there be several) the best and most perfect virtue " ; to which 
Aristotle adds that one needs, of course, a normal term of years 
to lead such a life in. 

Partial Truth of Earlier Theories. — This conclusion is 
confirmed by the fact that it curiously combines and har- 



ENERGISM 149 

monizes the older views. It does not identify happiness 
with virtue, but it declares that it must be according to virtue. 
A distinction is here drawn between virtue and happiness, to 
which Aristotle attributes great importance. Virtue he 
regards as a mere condition into which the soul may be 
brought. The virtuous man is no less virtuous when he is 
asleep or in any other way hindered from manifesting his 
virtue. But happiness is the manifestation of virtue in 
action. Again, according to this view, happiness is not 
pleasure ; but pleasure always attends upon happiness. For 
it must be noted that the performance of any function, when 
we are in the right state for it, is pleasant ; the quality of the 
pleasure varying according to the function concerned. A life 
according to virtue is thus necessarily a pleasant life ; and, on 
the other hand, no one can be said to have a virtue until the 
conduct which it calls for is pleasant to him. Finally, even 
the external goods are included after a fashion — namely, either 
as necessary conditions of the happy life or as instruments 
with which its various activities are carried on. For to live 
at all the means of food and warmth are necessary ; and to 
live in a desirable way much more is necessary, freedom and 
leisure especially ; and it is not very easy to be happy without 
some degree of personal comeliness and family rank, or with- 
out the comfort of friends and children. So also one cannot 
act liberally without something to give, or courageously with- 
out physical strength. 1 Good fortune is thus necessary for 
complete living; still it is the life itself that constitutes 
happiness. 

3. Virtue 

Classification of Virtues. — Human activities are of two 
kinds : pure theory and practice. The former is the func- 

1 In the same spirit, Plato insists that the virtuous life is impossible to 
the chronic invalid — "such a person is of no use either to himself or to the 
State." 



150 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

tion of reason alone; first in the intuition of fundamental 
truths, and secondly in the deduction of other necessary 
truths. In practical activity, while reason (in the sense in 
which it acts upon the lower nature) is the guide, the mo- 
tives are given by the appetites. Three divisions of virtue 
may therefore be distinguished : wisdom (pertaining to pure 
reason) ; prudence (pertaining to practical reason) ; and good 
character; or, grouping the first two together, we may speak 
of the intellectual and the moral virtues. 

The Acquirement of the Virtues. — No sort of virtue 
belongs to man naturally — except as a potentiality of his 
being. Nature gives him only aptitudes which may be 
developed into virtue or vice. None of the appetites is, as 
such, good or bad ; nor is natural cleverness. Virtue is a 
form, for which the natural man is the appropriate matter. 
The intellectual virtues are acquired by instruction. More 
explicitly, prudence is acquired by the forming of correct 
inductions ; while when induction has been carried far enough 
the faculties of pure reason are awakened into activity, and 
these never err when they act at all. The moral virtues 
are acquired by habituation to correct conduct. Mere theo- 
rizing will no more secure a good disposition than it will a 
sound body. 

Moral Virtue : the Golden Mean. — As Plato pointed out, 
moral virtue always shows a certain symmetry ; and this is 
seen in the fact that every such virtue is a mean between two 
extremes of excess and defect, which are vices. Thus cour- 
age lies between rashness and cowardice, temperance be- 
tween self-indulgence and insensibility, modesty between 
bashfulness and shamelessness. Not that the mean is a 
mathematical average, for it often lies nearer one extreme 
than the other (as courage lies nearer to rashness than to 
cowardice) ; and, besides, the tendencies in each direction 
vary greatly from man to man. It is a point which prudence 
must determine as well as may be, though it can never do so 



ENERGISM 151 

with absolute accuracy. For conduct consists of individual 
acts, and the individual is never susceptible of exact scientific 
determination. With all the good principles which experi- 
ence can suggest, there is always necessary a certain sense of 
what is right and wrong in the particular case. 

Justice. — All this applies equally to justice — which, how- 
ever, is an ambiguous term. Sometimes it means simply 
' obedience to law ' ; and as laws are made for the enforce- 
ment of all sorts of virtues so far as the community is affected 
by them, the term is then equivalent to good character in 
general. Generally, however, it is taken to include only 
the virtue displayed in the transfer of ' external ' goods and 
ills. So taken, it may mean either (1), in the distribution 
of goods, to give to each man in proportion to his desert, 
or (2), in the requital of benefit or injury, to avoid imposing 
upon another or being imposed upon oneself. In either 
sense, it is clearly a mean between extremes. In the precise 
application of the term, justice applies only to dealings 
between free and equal citizens, living under subjection to 
law. Only in a modified sense does it apply to the relations 
between master and slave, or father and children, or even 
husband and wife. 

Laws are partly natural, partly conventional. The former 
are valid whether we recognize them or not ; the latter are 
the work of the legislative body. Even the natural laws 
are capable of some modification — in all forms of life some 
variation from the type is to be expected. But the type 
none the less remains fixed eternally, and is no harder to 
distinguish than other natural types. The whole purpose 
of the state is the common interest of the citizens ; and what 
makes for this is fundamentally just. Equity is the correc- 
tion of the general rules of justice where they fail to fit the 
particular case — just as in the case of other virtues the 
general principles need supplementation by a native sense 
of right and wrong. 



152 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Relation between Prudence and Moral Virtue. — If pru- 
dence is necessary for moral virtue, it is equally true that 
moral virtue is necessary for the development of prudence. 
The basis of prudence is the natural sense of right and wrong 
in particular cases, since from the particular feelings all 
general principles must be derived, even including the con- 
ception of happiness itself from which all other practical 
principles depend. But experience shows that in men of 
evil character the sense of right and wrong is perverted, and 
the general principles are wrongly formed. 1 Good character 
and prudence are thus inseparable, neither being possible 
without the other. How then can one get either? Only 
by being trained by men who are already good. By being 
made to perform acts that are ' externally ' right — we can- 
not call them ' essentially ' right or good until they express 
the agent's own character — the disposition to perform 
such acts is acquired, and with it the consciousness of the 
moral principles that are involved. 

Friendship and Citizenship. — In the systems of Plato 
and Aristotle, as in Greek ethics generally, no special virtue 
of love or benevolence is recognized. The place is taken 
by the notions of friendship and citizenship. Love is not a 
virtue, if only that it is a natural instinct — parental, filial, 
fraternal, sexual, or even for man as such ; "for man is 



1 Hence Aristotle is careful to distinguish between vice, which is marked 
by wrong moral principles, and incontinence, which is marked by the ineffi- 
cacy of correct moral principles to control conduct. The incontinent man, 
under the stress of emotion, either does not call to mind his moral principles, 
or if he does recall them he fails to realize their significance — they are like 
verses recited by an intoxicated man. (This is what Socrates failed to ob- 
serve.) Furthermore, in order to apply general principles to particular 
cases, particular observations are always necessary ; and these the incon- 
tinent man fails to make impartially. He knows (after a fashion) that 
sweet things are to be tasted and that hurtful things are not to be tasted : but he 
observes only that this thing is sweet (which may be true) , while he overlooks 
the fact that this thing is hurtful. Incontinence may therefore be said to be a 
physiological condition analogous to sleep or madness or intoxication. 



ENERGISM 153 

always akin to and dear to man." The chief ' forms ' which 
this natural endowment takes are, on the one hand, friend- 
ship, and on the other hand the institutions comprised in 
the complex organism of the state. Friendship is not, 
strictly speaking, a virtue, though it is only possible at its 
best between good men who love each other for their good- 
ness ; and the friendship of the good is a great help to in- 
crease in virtue. Besides, the true friend is a second self; 
and being with him directly intensifies the good man's 
consciousness of life — that is, increases his happiness. So 
also we find no special virtue of patriotism ; but this is 
because devotion to the state comprehends all the moral 
virtues. The state is absolutely necessary for man's moral 
development ; indeed its true end is the virtue of its citizens. 

4. The Supremacy of Pure Reason 

Of the two kinds of activity, practical and theoretical, 
which is the best ? The latter, to be sure ; for it is the exer- 
cise of man's supreme faculty — the ruling element which 
is most truly himself. Strictly speaking, therefore, we 
should say that happiness is simply contemplation of truth. 
This conclusion may be confirmed upon various grounds. 
Contemplation of truth is the most pleasant of all activities. 
Even the search for truth is admittedly very pleasant — 
how much more so must be the actual possession of it? 
Contemplation depends less upon external conditions than 
the moral life ; for (aside from material conditions) the 
latter absolutely requires men toward whom to act morally, 
while the former can to some extent go on in isolation. Con- 
templation is desired absolutely for its own sake ; it is the 
very essence of the leisure for which all toil is spent. But 
even the noblest practical activities — war and politics — 
look to ends beyond themselves, and are the opposite of 
leisurely. And if a life of pure contemplation would be 
rather divine than human (for though reason is the highest 



154 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

and most essential element in man's nature, he has a lower 
element as well), nevertheless it behooves man to put off his 
mortality as far as possible and live in the exercise of his 
highest faculty, in which the divine life solely consists. 
As a man among men, the sage will choose to live morally ; 
but his highest life is an absolute selfishness — the love of 
what is best in himself. It is, after all, as an animal — by 
virtue of his lower nature — that man is social ; and even 
the state is the sphere of prudence, not of wisdom. The 
highest end which the state can accomplish is to secure to 
a few highly endowed individuals the leisure for private 
contemplation. 

IV. Concluding Comments 

Intellectual Aristocracy. — Thus the ancient energism, 
despite its endeavor to take a broad view of life and its 
activities — or perhaps even on account of its attempted 
breadth of view — tends to emphasize the importance of 
those activities which are (or were) the exclusive privilege 
of an aristocracy. 1 To be sure, it is an intellectual aristoc- 

1 One of the most interesting differences in the social ideals of the two 
philosophers is seen in their treatment of women and the family. Plato 
regards the family as an institution that is of no significance for the upper 
classes of his ideal state. It would simply tend to weaken their civil al- 
legiance. Temporary unions, designed for the procreation of healthy chil- 
dren, are all that is desirable. It is even better if parents do not know their 
own children ; for then all men and women (of the same generation) will 
have their children in common ; and all children will be brothers and sisters. 
The women of these classes, like the men, are chosen for their special ability 
as warriors or as thinkers ; and, aside from childbearing, their lives are de- 
voted to their specialties — their infants being cared for by lower-class 
women. For, though women are on the average inferior to men in every 
respect, they vary greatly, and even a woman philosopher is not impossible ; 
and they ought, like men, to be classified according to their ability. Aris- 
totle has a lower estimate of women and a higher estimate of the family. 
(It is amusing to note that Aristotle was a married man, whereas Plato was 
not.) The institution of the family, he thinks, is necessary for all classes of 
citizens ; and instead of weakening civil allegiance, it is its most important 
source. Moreover, to spread out the relations of parents and children and 



ENERGISM 155 

racy — for the professional philosopher it could hardly 
be otherwise. But none the less it is held that the vast 
majority of men are born incapable of true happiness and 
must forever remain so. Men belong naturally to different 
social levels. Some men (as Aristotle frankly declared) 
are born masters, and some are born slaves. Greeks, who 
are a superior people, ought never to be enslaved, but only 
barbarians. Full citizenship, in the sense of membership 
in the sovereign body, is a privilege that belongs by right 
only to men of culture. But most men are incapable of 
culture. The ultimate object of a liberal education is to 
fit men for a life of leisure ; its nearer object is to fit men for 
the occupations of war and government without which leisure 
is impossible. Thus, in Plato's ideal state, only the rulers 
and the warriors are supposed to receive any education. 
The masses have only their apprenticeship in their various 
callings. Such a low happiness as they are capable of enjoy- 
ing is provided for them by their rulers' care. They are 
irresponsible. 

Can Ethics be made an Exact Science ? — If now we 
compare the Platonic and Aristotelian systems of ethics, 
the most important difference that emerges lies in Aristotle's 
insistence that moral virtue can never be a subject of exact 
knowledge, but must ever remain in the domain of indi- 
vidual perception, or tact. Plato's more direct followers 
in the Academy refused to follow this lead. They still 
hoped for an ethics of the mathematical pattern — a system 
of ideal forms of character and conduct by which the life 
of the individual and the state might be guided. However, 
the difference was not so great as might be supposed, as the 
Academics (like Plato himself) were perfectly ready to admit 
that in the practical application of the ideal forms they must 

of brothers and sisters, as Plato suggests, would simply destroy their value. 
But women are radically inferior to men, and none are capable of any high 
degree of culture. 



156 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

always be adapted to the particular circumstances which 
perception disclosed. 

Academic Skepticism. — It is somewhat surprising to find 
that while Aristotle's school suffered very little change save 
a gradual decline, Plato's school underwent a series of strik- 
ing revolutions. Some seventy years after Plato's death, 
Arcesilas introduced a thorough-going skepticism into the 
Academy ; and this held sway there for two hundred years. 
The skeptics, of whom the greatest was Carneades (b.c. 213- 
129), denied the possibility of exact knowledge altogether. 
We never get beyond the possibility of error, they declared ; 
though when our opinions are repeatedly confirmed they 
become more and more probable, and may reach a practical 
certainty. In ethics they were unwilling to commit them- 
selves to any theory of the chief good. Pleasure, absence 
of pain, the satisfaction of natural appetites, virtue — all 
these are plausible ends for human endeavor, and there is 
no need to reject any of them. Probability is our only guide ; 
and, looking to it, we shall not be carried away by foolish 
passions. Not to expect too much from nature or man or 
ourselves, and to be content (so long as is possible) with what 
befalls — that is the way to enjoy a philosophic calm. 

Eclecticism. — In the first century B.C., this skepticism 
gradually gave way to a dogmatic eclecticism, which professed 
to harmonize the ethical teachings of Plato, Aristotle, and 
the older stoics, and presented the strange mixture that 
resulted, as a perfect science. 

REFERENCES 

Plato, Gorgias, Crito, Phcedo, Symposium, Republic. 
Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, especially Books I, II, X. 
Burnet, J., Aristotle on Education. 
Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II, Ch. IV. 
Zeller, E., Plato and the Older Academy, Chs. X, XI ; Aristotle and 
the Earlier Peripatetics, Ch. XII. 



ENERGISM 157 

Gomperz, T., Greek Thinkers, Book V. 

Caird, E., Evolution of Theology in the Greek Philosophers, Lectures 

IV-VI, XI. 
Ritchie, D. G., Plato, Ch. VIII. 
Taylor, A. E., Plato; and Aristotle. 
Seth, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, Ch. Ill, xiv. 
Thilly, F., Introduction to Ethics, Ch. VII. 
Benn, A. W., The Philosophy of Greece, Chs. VII, VEIL 
Dickinson, G. L., The Greek View of Life, especially Ch. III. 



CHAPTER IX 

RIGORISM 

Democracy in Ethics. — As the ancient energism was es- 
sentially aristocratic, so the democratic spirit is represented 
by the rigorism of the cynics and stoics. Happiness, they 
declared, is open in its fullness to every man. All classes 
are artificial. The virtue of master and slave, of the high- 
born and the lowly, of man and woman, are the same ; and 
where virtue is present all inequalities are leveled. There 
are no conditions of fortune, to which virtue is subject in 
expressing itself in conduct ; and the life according to virtue 
is the supreme good. 

I. The Cynics 

History of the School. — Antisthenes was the illegitimate 
son of an Athenian citizen and a Thracian woman, and conse- 
quently had not himself the rights of citizenship ; and he 
was, besides, a man of little property. No doubt these 
circumstances had their effect upon his philosophy. He 
managed to obtain a good education — he was a pupil of 
the sophist Gorgias — and became a teacher of rhetoric. 
When he was already in advanced middle life, he fell under 
the influence of Socrates, and gave up his profession in order 
to follow him. After the death of Socrates he commenced 
teaching in the gymnasium Cynosarges (which was used 
by the half-Athenians) ; from which he and his disciples 
were called cynics. The word also carried the connotation 
of dog-like (as if from kv<ov, dog), on account of their 
contempt for the luxuries and even the decencies of life ; 
and they welcomed this interpretation as an unintended 

158 



RIGORISM 159 

honor. It was a chief aim of the members of the school to 
exhibit in their own persons how independent human nature 
really was of all artificialities, virtue alone being sufficient 
at all times. A good part of their success was due to the 
fact, that in spite of their hard manner of life they kept them- 
selves constantly in the best of physical condition. Among 
the disciples of Antisthenes was the famous Diogenes of 
Sinope (who sought ' a man ' in the daytime with a lantern, 
and made himself at home in a tub). Diogenes and the later 
cynics (perhaps Antisthenes also) lived and dressed as com- 
mon beggars. Crates of Thebes gave away considerable 
wealth on joining them, and influenced his betrothed wife 
Hipparchia to do the same. At the end of the fourth cen- 
tury the school became merged in stoicism. 

The Nature of Virtue. — Antisthenes follows his master 
in holding that virtue is essentially one, and entirely com- 
prised in wisdom, or prudence. He even declares that every 
act of the wise man is in accordance with all virtue. It is 
impossible to be wise without being temperate, to be tem- 
perate without being just, to be just without being brave. 
And as Socrates held that knowledge was unshakable by 
passion, so Antisthenes holds that, once acquired, it can 
never be taken away. Wisdom, however, is by no means 
so abstractly intellectual a matter as the mathematician 
Plato supposes. To acquire it the exercise of the body is 
necessary as well as the education of the soul. Moreover, 
the amount of knowledge that is necessary is not great. 
Virtue is a thing of deeds, not of wordy erudition. A so- 
called ' liberal ' education is of no real use. It is simply a 
temptation to turn one's attention to non-essentials. 

The Cynic Paradoxes. — According to Socrates, virtue 
is the one unconditional good. But since the right use of 
all other things depends upon virtue, Antisthenes prefers 
to say that it is the only good. So also, vice is the only 
evil. All else is in itself indifferent, becoming good or evil 



160 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

only as it is virtuously or viciously incurred. Antisthenes 
loved to startle his hearers by paradoxical expressions of 
this principle. Labor (twos), he said, was good ; and the 
saying gained point from the fact that the Greeks used this 
word, as we use ' pain,' to include all kinds of trouble and 
suffering, making it the direct opposite of pleasure (-^Bovrj), 
And he equally declared that pleasure was an evil. " I 
would rather be mad than pleased," is one of the sayings 
attributed to him. But he illustrated his praise of labor 
by the story of the great Hercules (the bastard-god, whom 
he delighted to honor), which he interpreted as an heroic 
perseverance in duty, in defiance of all obstacles. Even so, 
every good man must labor to withstand temptation and 
subdue passion. So with pleasure. The pleasures that 
follow labor are worth pursuing, but not those that precede 
labor — or, as it is elsewhere put, those that call for regret. 
Pleasure as such is valueless, not worth stretching out a 
finger for. The same sort of judgment is passed upon the 
other things that men ordinarily most desire or fear. Ill- 
report is a good thing — as good as labor. Praise does not 
call for thanks. Enemies serve one purpose of the truest 
friends, for they detect and reveal our faults. Wealth with- 
out virtue gives no pleasure, and no good man can love it. 
Death is the crowning moment of a happy life. 1 

The Sufficiency of Virtue. — Virtue, then, is sufficient for 
happiness ; 2 in fact happiness is nothing else than to live 
according to virtue. The wise man is absolutely superior 
to fortune. He regards all evils as not affecting him. If he 
is the son of a slave, he is still well-born ; he has untold riches 
in his mind ; he is lovable, and all the good are his friends ; 
nothing is strange or difficult to him ; and he has a weapon 

1 We are told that Antisthenes regarded immortality, not as the universal 
possession of men, but as the privilege of the just and holy. 

2 One of the ancient accounts adds : "It needs nothing additional except 
the strength of Socrates." This is inexact, for strength is an essential 
aspect of virtue itself. 



RIGORISM 161 

of defense of which nothing can deprive him. All that 
others have is his ; for he is without envy. He is the 
true king, for he is his own ruler and stands in fear of no 
man. 

The Moral Standard. — But just what is virtue? It is 
prudence, the knowledge of good and evil. But now, if 
we content ourselves with saying that the good is that which 
is according to virtue, we are wandering in a circle. That 
refined dialectician, Euclid of Megara, fell into just this 
difficulty. Some sort of standard is necessary, if one is to 
escape. Antisthenes has a standard, though it is a peculiarly 
negative one. It is the absolute independence of the virtuous 
man. For since virtue is sufficient for happiness, the virtuous 
man must be self-sufficient. He must feel no need that must 
be satisfied from without, except those that are inseparable 
from the support of life and health ; and when these are 
unsupplied he keeps his independence by simply dying with- 
out a struggle or regret. So long as he lives, he stands in his 
own might, " setting nothing above liberty " (Diogenes). 

The Cynic Conception of Nature. — Here was involved 
the old sophistic antithesis of nature and convention. But 
Antisthenes (and still more his successors) applied it in a 
way of which the sophists never dreamed. For what was 
natural was now interpreted to mean, what the health of 
the individual and the preservation of the race demanded. 
And they found that man was a remarkably tough animal. 
A single rough garment was enough protection ; the simplest 
fare maintained his vigor; he needed no house (though 
Antisthenes had one) ; and he could lie down anywhere. 
Antisthenes and Diogenes made studies of the habits of 
savages, and even of the lower animals, in order to deter- 
mine with exactness what primitive man was like. Once 
started on this line, the cynics found no stopping-place. 
Diogenes went so far as to justify cannibalism and incest. 
Antisthenes believed in marriage (for the sake of offspring) 



162 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

and in connubial love — " f or the wise man knows who ought 
to be loved. " But Diogenes found marriage superfluous — 
a community of wives and children was much simpler. Again, 
Antisthenes believed in patriotism, and even in an active 
participation in politics ; and several of the maxims attrib- 
uted to him are political counsels. " The safest city wall 
is prudence ; for it cannot fall or be betrayed." " Cities 
are destroyed when they cannot distinguish wicked from 
good men." But the later cynics found patriotism irra- 
tional ; they were citizens of the world. It is to their lasting 
credit that they were among the first Greeks to denounce 
slavery as an unnatural institution. 

Shamelessness. — The wise man, as we have seen, is suffi- 
cient to himself ; and in following nature he counts as noth- 
ing the opinions of other men. He is utterly shameless. " It 
is for a king to do well and be ill spoken of." Here again 
the disciples went far beyond the master. Antisthenes seems 
to have set no store by wantonly offending the suscepti- 
bilities of others. But the later cynics prided themselves 
upon their disregard of all the rules of decency. 

'Apathy.' — Finally, in being true to nature, the wise man 
is free from all violence of passion ; for this is entirely due to 
groundless opinions. And how can a man be swayed by pas- 
sion, when he has in his own power all that is necessary for his 
welfare? He enjoys the equanimity (aTraOca) of the con- 
sciously strong. Not that the cynic was a stock or a stone. 
He knew, for instance, how to love his friends. But what- 
ever emotion he might feel, he did not propose to stake his 
happiness upon anything outside himself. 

Religion. — It is noteworthy that the notion of a god plays 
no part in the cynic system of morals. A god is not neces- 
sary as a lawgiver (except as the creator is necessarily in some 
sort a lawgiver), for man's own nature is the supreme law. 
And he is not needed to reward the good, for the very essence 
of their goodness is absolute self-sufficiency. Antisthenes 



RIGORISM 163 

did believe in a single supreme God, who was unlike any- 
created thing and was not to be represented by any image. 
He went further than Socrates, in declaring that the gods 
of the popular religion were mere ' convention.' But noth- 
ing positive in his conception of God is recorded; and it 
seems to have played a very small part in his philosophy. 

II. The Stoics 

Relation to Cynicism. — The last of the great ethical sys- 
tems of the pagan era, and (until the rise of Christianity) 
the strongest positive moral influence in the world, was 
stoicism, founded by Zeno of Citium about the end of the 
fourth century. Its founder had been a pupil of Crates 
the cynic, and in his teaching most of the characteristic 
notions of the cynics were incorporated — except, indeed, 
their athleticism, which was a natural omission, as Zeno 
was a lifelong invalid. The cynics had taught that the 
only good is virtue, the only evil vice; that happiness is 
life according to virtue, and any other life is misery ; that 
pleasure and pain and all things else are indifferent; that 
virtue is freedom from all that is external to one's nature, 
i.e. from habits and opinions and the needs and passions 
thence arising. All this is good stoic doctrine. What is 
new in the ethics of Zeno and his successors is, first, a half 
metaphysical, half religious background; and secondly, a 
genetic theory of the relation of morality to instinct. Beyond 
this we have only elaborations of cynicism. 

1. The Background 

The Universal Nature. — The first of these, though im- 
portant in other connections, can receive only brief considera- 
tion here. The stoics were materialistic pantheists. They 
believed that mind and matter are not two kinds of substance, 
but that mind is a kind of matter, an omnipresent ether, 



164 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

or fire. 1 It is active matter as distinguished from the passive 
matter with which it is everywhere united ; in other words, 
God, the soul of the universe. All the processes of nature 
are his life, the self-expression of his nature; wherefore 
the universe, with all that it contains, is absolutely perfect. 
And as his nature is eternal and rational, all that takes place 
is in accordance with invariable law. 

Human Nature. — Human reason is, as it were, a spark 
of the universal fire. Our nature is the same as the cosmic 
nature. We are free beings ; not, indeed, as if we were 
able to change the course of things, for this we cannot do; 
but free to assent to, or to dissent from, what is necessary. 
To assent is to agree with the universal nature, and hence 
also with our own nature. To dissent is to be at odds 
with the world and with ourselves. 

2. The Relation of Morality to Instinct 

The Primitive Instincts and their Objects. — The first 
actions of every sentient creature are impelled, not (as the 
hedonists thought) by the love of pleasure, but by the in- 
stincts of self-preservation. The newborn animal feels its 
own existence and clings to life and health ; and it is impelled 
toward things that are necessary or wholesome, while it 
shrinks from death and from all that seems to threaten death. 
By examination we can make out for each species a list of 
the objects of its natural affection. The body and its parts, 
and appropriate food and protection, will be universally 
included ; and in the case of man we must add truth, whether 
gained through direct perception or through correct reasoning. 

Value and its Gradations. — Now the general process 
by which new objects of choice are added to that which 
instinct dictates, is simply this : that we choose the things 

1 The latter term is from the old cosmologist, Heraclitus of Ephesus, 
whose enigmatic sayings the stoics were fond of interpreting as anticipa- 
tions of their own doctrine. 



RIGORISM 165 

which, we perceive, tend to secure the objects of instinctive 
(or previously developed) choice. Such things, like the 
primary objects themselves, are said to be in harmony with 
nature, and to have value; while things of a contrary ten- 
dency are said to be contrary to nature, and to have negative 
value. As the power of reflection begins, it is seen that the 
choice of valuable things {fitting conduct) is itself of value, 
being preferable to heedless choice ; and, further, that the 
habitual fitting choice is valuable as compared with the merely 
occasional. And, finally, as the faculty of abstract thought 
matures, there arises a perception of fitness itself ; and the 
complete ordering of life by this principle, making a life 
according to reason, is seen to be in the highest degree fitting 
and valuable. But this is what we mean by virtue. 

Goodness. — At once, however, it is clear, that such a 
life is more than merely valuable. To be absolutely governed 
in one's conduct by the rational perception of fitness is 
good. This word ' good ' has been loosely used by the would- 
be catholic Plato and his successors. To speak of ' external 
goods ' and ' goods of the body ' is outrageous. The objects 
of natural affection, all things in harmony with nature, 
and even fitting acts and habits, are simply valuable. The 
fitting act that is committed simply because it is fitting — 
in other words, the right act — is not only valuable but 
good. 

Is this to quarrel about terms ? Yes ; but terms are 
important when they express differences in kind. The dif- 
ference between goodness and other values is such a differ- 
ence. 

Some Distinctions of Terms. — The good is man's well- 
being, or happiness, and thus is worthy of being desired; 
while the merely valuable forms no part of true happiness, 
and is not worthy of being desired. The merely valuable 
is more or less acceptable; that is to say, when it is a matter 
of choice, it is fitting to choose the more valuable in prefer- 



166 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ence to the less valuable. Similarly, what is contrary to 
nature, and thus has negative value, is more or less unaccept- 
able, though not necessarily evil. Wrong conduct is indeed 
evil ; by which is meant the unfit conduct of a rational 
agent, as indicating the blindness of reason to its unfitness. 
What is neither good nor evil is indifferent. What has no 
value at all, either positive or negative, is utterly indifferent, 
or neutral. 1 

Let us illustrate some of these distinctions. Wealth is 
acceptable, and poverty is unacceptable. Wealth has a 
positive value, because it enables the possessor to provide 
the things that are necessary for the satisfaction of his natural 
impulses ; while poverty has a negative value. If we have 
to choose between them, the former is to be preferred; to 
choose it is the fitting thing to do. But the virtuous man 
does not desire wealth. He does not think of it as something 
essential to his well-being. He does not, so to speak, set 
his heart upon it. The loss of wealth leaves him as happy 
as before. But he does desire to live rationally by being 
diligent in his business and administering his property eco-. 
nomically. For such (rational) conduct is right and good. 
So also he does not desire health, nor is he unhappy in sick- 
ness ; but he does desire to live rationally by obeying all 
hygienic laws. 

Summary. — The essential points to be noted are these : 
Moral value, or goodness, is late in the order of temporal 
development, but is not for that reason inferior. On the 
contrary, it is a distinctly higher product. It arises as an 

1 The following table of contrasted terms may be of service : 

In harmony with (contrary to) In harmony with (contrary to) 

nature : reason : 

valuable — having negative good — evil — indifferent 

value — neutral 

fitting (duty) — unfitting right — wrong 

acceptable — unacceptable desirable — objectionable 

convenience — inconvenience benefit — injury 



RIGORISM 167 

indirect means to the securing of the objects of natural pref- 
erence. But, having thus arisen, it is of a radically different 
nature from these objects. In a sense it continues to be 
dependent upon them ; that is to say, it is dependent upon 
the distinction between things acceptable and unacceptable. 
For if there were no such distinction there would be no possi- 
bility of rational choice. But as soon as virtue exists, it is 
absolutely independent of the actual presence of anything 
whatsoever — even of the continuance of life itself. For 
death is not an evil ; and when it is fitting for the virtuous 
man to die, his acceptance of death is the last act of a happy 
life. 

3. The Stoic Paradoxes 

Verbal Paradoxes. — The conclusions which the stoics 
immediately proceed to draw from these doctrines are among 
the most notorious of paradoxes. Some of them, to be sure, 
are only verbal. When it is said that physical pain is not an 
evil, it must be understood that it is nevertheless exceedingly 
unacceptable, and that a very strong revulsion is naturally 
caused by it. When it is said that the wise man is as happy 
in sickness, poverty, and ill-repute as in health, riches, and 
honor, the meaning is that he is as virtuous, and hence, as 
we may phrase it, as worthy of emulation. But others of 
the paradoxes are more than verbal. In general these may 
be described as attempts to give precision to the various 
distinctions set forth above. Several of the most important 
are restatements of qualitative distinctions in quantitative terms. 

No Mixture of Virtue and Vice. — In the first place, it 
is maintained that the division of men into virtuous and 
vicious admits of no middle ground. There are no partly 
virtuous and partly vicious men. When reason controls 
conduct it does so absolutely and at all times. Men are 
either virtuous or vicious; and whereas every act of the 
virtuous man is right, every act of the vicious man is either 
indifferent (in case it happens to be fitting) or wrong. 



168 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

No Gradations of Virtue or Vice. — In the second place 
it is said that all virtue is equally great ; that is to say, in 
the sphere of the good there is no better or worse. All 
good men are equally estimable, and all their acts are per- 
fect. The like is said of vice. To steal a penny is as evil 
as to betray one's country. This is one of the quantitative 
restatements above referred to. All virtue is equally (i.e. 
with equal truth) virtuous ; and hence it is equally (i.e. in 
an equal degree) virtuous. All vice is equally vicious (in 
the same two senses). 

Corollaries. — (1) It follows that there is no gradual im- 
provement in morals. There is only the total transformation 
from consummate vice to consummate virtue. It is true 
that as time goes on a larger and larger proportion of the 
vicious man's acts may be fitting, and hence merely indiffer- 
ent ; and as this happens the man may be said to be approach- 
ing virtue. But he is as vicious as ever all the while. It is 
like the opening of the newborn puppy's eyes. He is blind, 
and is gradually approaching the possession of sight. But he 
is as blind just before his eyes open as at any previous time. 

(2) It also follows that the longer of two happy lives 
is not a whit more desirable than the shorter. For the de- 
sirability of the happy life consists, not in the merely l ac- 
ceptable,' which it may contain in greater or less amount, 
but in its virtuousness, which does not increase with time. 
A happy life would be no happier if it endured a thousand 
years ; just as a musical note would be no higher if it were 
similarly prolonged. Duration has no more to do with happi- 
ness than with musical pitch. 

Infinite Superiority of Virtue. — In the third place, virtue 
is infinitely more valuable than anything else whatsoever. 
This is another translation from the qualitative to the quanti- 
tative. If the virtuous life possesses a value of an essentially 
new and higher type, then no quantity of mere ' acceptables ' 
can ever be equivalent to it. Hence, as compared with any 



RIGORISM 169 

merely acceptable thing, the value of virtue is infinite, i.e. 
is incapable of being increased by the addition of any finite 
value. The stoics were never tired of setting this forth in 
striking illustrations. In the happy life the addition or 
subtraction of all the gifts of fortune makes not so much 
difference as the addition or subtraction of a single penny 
would make to the wealth of Crcesus, or as a drop of water 
more or less would make to the great sea. 

Suicide. — The stoic doctrine of suicide is an unimportant 
detail ; but it should be noticed for the light it throws upon 
these paradoxes. Like the Epicureans, the stoics regarded 
suicide as sometimes justifiable. But whereas the Epicurean 
could defend his position by saying that when life is no longer 
worth living it ought to be left, the stoic had no such excuse ; 
for to him the life of the vicious man was always absolutely 
wretched and that of the virtuous absolutely happy, and 
neither the wretchedness of the one nor the happiness of 
the other could be increased or diminished by a longer or 
shorter term of life. He therefore has recourse to the fol- 
lowing argument. The fitness of conduct consists in the 
choice of the more acceptable in preference to the less. When 
life is filled with a preponderance of things contrary to na- 
ture — such as sickness, poverty, and pain — the cessation 
of life becomes more acceptable than its continuance ; and 
under these circumstances suicide is fitting. Hence, as the 
wise man always does what is fitting, he will in such a case 
unhesitatingly commit suicide, altogether regardless of the 
fact that he is as happy as can be ! 

4. The Virtuous Life 

Unity of Virtue. — More precisely, now, what is virtue ? 
Is it an attribute of character, or of conduct? Of both. 
There is no good character that does not constantly express 
itself in right conduct ; and there is no right conduct except 
that which arises from good character. Plato and Aris- 



170 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

totle were radically wrong when they imagined that reason 
had a function of its own — pure thought — separate from, 
and superior to, its control of conduct. Except as theory 
contributes to practical ends, it is a vicious frittering away 
of life. The supposed distinction between wisdom (as the 
virtue of pure thought) and prudence is illusory. Wisdom 
and prudence are the same. Socrates was right : to know 
is to act accordingly. All the virtues are but various as- 
pects of a single reality. Every right act (that is to say, 
every act of a good man) exhibits every possible virtue. 
Wisdom, temperance, courage, and justice mutually imply 
each other. 

Passions and Rational Feelings. — Since reason, late as is 
its appearance in the development of the individual, is cer- 
tainly a part of man's nature, virtue (or the proper function- 
ing of reason) may well be described as a state of health ; and 
vice is as truly a state of disease. The various forms which 
this disease takes are the passions {iraOrj), perturbations of 
the soul by which reason is blinded and paralyzed. These 
are many in number, but may be comprised under four 
heads : grief (Xvirrj), passionate desire (lindvixia — lust, 
in the widest sense of the term), fear (<f>6pos), and pleasure 
(ySovrj) — by which last term the stoic means, not mere 
agreeable feeling, but, as in the case of the other passions, 
a state of absorption in the feeling, a surrender of the rational 
nature. This distinction is of great importance. The 
stoic wise man is said to be free from passion ; but this does 
not mean that he is devoid of feeling. For feelings may be 
perfectly natural and healthy, both in quality and in inten- 
sity ; and in such case, unless other considerations inter- 
fere, reason dictates that we obey our feelings, for that is 
following nature. We should eat as we have appetite, 
exercise as we find it exhilarating, and enjoy the beauties 
of nature and art. Once more : if we had no natural in- 
clinations toward or away from things, there would be noth- 



RIGORISM 171 

ing for reason to work upon. Passion is the subjection of 
reason to the feelings which it is its function to control. 
Moreover there are certain rational feelings (ev-rraOziai) 
which are peculiar to the virtuous life. These are com- 
prised under the three heads of determination (JSovXrja-^, 
contrasted with lust), caution (evAa/3«a, contrasted with 
fear), and joy (xapa, contrasted with pleasure). The sage's 
existence, far from being an idle and cheerless one, is vigor- 
ous and delightful. 

Social Character of Virtue : how Explained. — (1) There is 
one impression which one is very apt to get from a first sur- 
vey of the stoic theory of virtue, but which is as far from 
truth as possible. That is, that the stoic idea of the life 
ordered by the rational perception of harmony is a selfish, 
or, at least, an individualistic, ideal — like the supreme happi- 
ness of contemplation, in the systems of Plato and Aristotle. 
The stoic view is that all good is intrinsically social. The 
explanation they find partly in a peculiar characteristic 
of man's natural instincts : all of the objects of natural affec- 
tion and dislike are social in their scope. The impulse to ward 
off a blow from oneself is no more natural than the impulse 
to ward off a blow from another man ; the impulse to recoil 
from pain is no more natural than the impulse to relieve 
another's pain ; the impulse to learn is no more natural than 
the impulse to teach; and in each case the latter impulse 
may easily be far stronger than the former. In fact, so 
thoroughly social a creature is man, that the prospect of 
utter loneliness takes away the attractiveness from every 
object whatsoever. Man is a member of human society, 
as assuredly as his own arm is a member of his body. And 
so bound together is he with his fellows, that every acceptable 
or unacceptable experience of any one affects in a like manner 
every other in some degree, however slight. 

Now since this is true of man's instinctive constitution, 
fitness (or harmony with nature) means consistency with 



172 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the interests, not only of the individual, but of society as 
a whole. Nay, since the whole is more than the part, fitness 
requires that the interests of society be paramount. And 
not simply the existing generation must be counted (for 
society lives on from generation to generation), but the re- 
motest posterity as well. It is natural for man to live, not 
for himself, but for his family and neighbors, and above all 
for the state. The stoic sage did not propose to secure hap- 
piness by avoiding annoyances in a selfish isolation. The 
cares of the parent and the citizen are a proper part of human 
life. A man can be happy if cut off from them ; but to live 
in the midst of them is clearly preferable. 

(2) But such an explanation is only partial. For though 
the fitting act is in accordance with the common interests, 
still, as rightly performed by any one good man, it is his act, 
and the virtue which it displays is his virtue. Why, then, 
is it not a private good ? Here the stoic falls back upon his 
metaphysical religion for the answer. All reason is one. 
All rational beings, both gods (i.e. superhuman personalities) 
and men, are members of a single universal organism. Each 
one, by living in accordance with his own nature, is put in 
touch with the universal harmony and enjoys it to the full — 
nay, becomes a factor in that harmony. Every good man, 
therefore, in each of his acts, is directly benefiting every 
rational being that is capable of receiving benefit — namely, 
the virtuous. And the like is true of vice. Every wrong 
act (i.e. every unfitting act of a vicious man) is an injury 
to all who are capable of receiving injury — namely, the 
vicious. Not only, therefore, through their social instincts, 
but still more through their rational nature, all men are 
bound together in unity. 

Friendship. — This unity, however, is one which only 
the good actually experience. In them it is called * friend- 
ship.' The good, and the good alone, are friends ; for they 
alone can confer real benefit upon each other. Friendship 



RIGORISM 173 

is therefore said to be a good ; not as if it were a good in 
addition to virtue, but because its goodness is one of the 
essential characteristics of virtue itself. Virtue is good, not 
only to its possessor, but to all other good men. 

The Equality of Benefits. — Here follows one of the most 
remarkable of the stoic paradoxes. To benefit can only 
mean to incite or restrain according to virtue (just as to 
injure can mean only to incite or restrain according to vice). 
But if this influence fell upon different men unequally, 
that would make it easier for some men to be good than 
for others ; and hence virtue would not be wholly voluntary 
— which seemed a monstrous conclusion. Hence it was 
laid down that all benefits (and all injuries) are equal. All 
the virtuous are equal sharers in one another's virtue. And, 
similarly, all the vicious, no matter how close in their approxi- 
mation to virtue, are equal sharers in one another's vice. 
/ The Laws of Nature. — The universal society of gods and 
men has its laws, obedience to which is justice, and diso- 
bedience to which is injustice. In contrast to the varied and 
changing statutes of men, these laws are eternal and every- 
where in force. These laws of nature are simply a descrip- 
tion of the natural life, expressed in the form of commands. 
They bid us do what is fitting and abstain from what is un- 
fitting. Consequently, obedience to the law does not con- 
stitute virtue (for that is merely fitting conduct), though 
disobedience to it, on the part of a rational being, is always 
vice. Virtue is the obedience to law, that springs from the 
rational perception of harmony. 

Thus, as the system finally works out, stoicism may be 
regarded as equally an ethics of virtue and an ethics of duty. 
The notion of the personal value of morality is kept promi- 
nent ; but the ultimate standard is an eternal code, which 
is absolutely authoritative on its own account. It is interest- 
ing to observe that it was this legal aspect of stoicism that 
most appealed to the Roman world. This was notably the 



174 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

case with the great popularizer of Greek philosophy, Cicero. 
And in the consolidation of the empire, amid the difficulties 
arising from the differences of law in its many provinces, 
the Roman jurists found the conception of a universal law 
of nature a most useful means of harmonization. The law 
of nature was viewed as the rational norm, from which the 
laws of the particular states were conventional variations. 
And thus there arose the conception of a state of nature, in 
which men had not yet formed particular states and were 
governed by the laws of nature alone — a conception which, 
as we shall see, was of great importance in the early develop- 
ment of modern ethics. 

REFERENCES 

Cicero, De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, Books III, IV. 
Epictetus, Discourses. 

Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, Books VI, VII. 
Grote, G., Plato and the Other Companions of Socrates, Ch. XXXVIII. 
Zeller, E., Socrates and the Socratic Schools, Ch. XIII ; Stoics, 

Epicureans, and Sceptics, Part II, Chs. X-XII. 
Cairo, E., Evolution of Theology in the Greek Philosophers, Lectures 

XVIII, XIX. 
Gomperz, T., Greek Thinkers, Book IV, Ch. VII. 
Arnold, E. V., Roman Stoicism, Ch. III. 
Davidson, W. L., The Stoic Creed, Chs. VII-X. 
Hicks, R. D., Stoics and Epicureans, Ch. III. 



CHAPTER X 

THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 
I. The Point of Departure 

The Omitted Centuries. — If this part of our work pre- 
tended to be a history, there are many matters of which we 
should have to take account, which for our present purposes 
must be passed over. From the beginning of the Christian 
era philosophy was intensely religious. This was true of 
all the chief thought movements : the Jewish- Alexandrian 
philosophy, neo-Platonism, and the philosophy of the Greek 
and Latin fathers of the Christian church. Much as might 
be learned from a study of their ethical doctrines, as well 
as from those of the scholasticism and mysticism of the mid- 
dle ages, we prefer to pass directly to the re-birth of the 
science of ethics which took place in England, in the seven- 
teenth century. In the modern development of the science, 
and especially in the controversies of the great English 
schools, we shall find ample material for our instruction. 

The Inherited Theory. — Modern ethics, like ancient 
ethics, had as its first problem the determination of the nat- 
ural basis of morality. But it differed from the ancient 
science in taking its rise, not from the simple notions of 
common sense, but from a learned theory inherited from 
stoicism. This theory was that of the existence of a uni- 
versal and eternal code of laws of nature, under which alone 
man originally lived, and from which all the peculiarities of 
civil laws are local and transient variations. These laws 
command men to do what it is fitting for them to do, in view 
of their social and rational nature, and of their consequent 
relations to each other and to God. 

175 



176 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

God as Sovereign. — In one striking way this tradi- 
tional theory had departed from the ancient form. The 
religious pantheism had been given up ; and in its stead was 
the Christian belief in individual immortality and a personal 
God. Consequently the laws of nature were conceived to 
be his commands, and might reasonably be expected to be 
enforced by rewards and penalties, especially in the here- 
after. They were thus literally laws in the sense of statutes 
issued by an omnipotent sovereign. Some theologians (under 
the influence of the great English schoolmen, Duns Scotus 
and William of Occam) even went so far as to declare that 
it is only because God has commanded obedience to the laws 
of nature, that they are at all obligatory upon us, and that 
' fitting ; means simply what is pleasing to him. He might 
conceivably, they said, have commanded otherwise; and 
then what is now right would be wrong, and vice versa. 
But the more orthodox view (as it had been held by Thomas 
Aquinas) was that there is an eternal distinction between 
fitting and unfitting, and that God's commands simply give 
the force of law to this distinction. He commands the fitting 
because it is fitting. He might, to be sure, have created us 
differently, and then different conduct would be in accord- 
ance with our nature. But we being such as we are, the 
law of nature follows necessarily from our given constitution ; 
and even in the absence of any revelation from God we can 
to a considerable extent make out, from the study of this 
constitution, what our natural obligations are. 

Grotius. — The classic modern exposition of this view is 
contained in the treatise on international law (De Jure Belli 
et Pads, 1625) of Hugo Grotius. This work is based upon 
the interesting conception, that since sovereign states in their 
dealings with each other are controlled by no man-made 
laws, they are subject to the laws of nature alone. Thus they 
furnish a vivid illustration of the relations between indi- 
vidual men in the original state of nature. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 177 

II. HOBBES 

The New Impulse. — The study of the ancient ethical 
classics produced more or less important revivals of all the 
ancient philosophical schools. In the seventeenth century 
the most important of these was the Platonism that flourished 
in Cambridge University. But the impulse that gave birth 
to modern ethics came from a body of original and daring 
speculations that set all tradition at naught, and, rejecting 
all previous moral science as utterly fallacious, essayed to 
build up the true science from its foundations. The publi- 
cation of these speculations in the De Give (1641) and Levia- 
than (1651) of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury won for 
him, it is true, not a single disciple of importance, but it 
excited opposition and awakened thought as scarcely any 
other event in English literary history has done. 

Political Attitude. — Hobbes, the most hard-headed and 
opinionated of men, worked out his ethical theories during 
the time of the Puritan agitation against Charles I. It 
appeared to him that such agitation was exceedingly foolish 
and threatened the very foundations of social security. 
But, at the same time, he had no faith in the Cavalier dogma 
of the divine right of kings. Accordingly, his theories are 
prompted by the desire to prove the necessity of an undivided 
sovereign power, from facts that would be apparent to all 
men of sense and sobriety. 

1. Fundamental Principles 

Method. — Hobbes got his ideal of scientific method from 
the study, in middle age, of a copy of Euclid's Elements; 
which, however, he imperfectly understood. He believed 
that all true science begins with arbitrary definitions of the 
terms to be used, and that its whole procedure consists in 
drawing deductions from these definitions. (The axioms 
of Euclid, he thought, could all be proved from mere defini- 



178 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

tions.) Hobbes's ethics, therefore, is professedly a deduc- 
tive science. 1 In its actual mode of presentation, however, 
it is not carried back to the primary definitions, for these 
belong to natural philosophy, or physics, which Hobbes 
regards as fundamental ; and though Hobbes believed that 
natural philosophy could be developed to a point where moral 
philosophy would follow directly from it, he never attempted 
to work out the full connection. As matters stand, his 
ethics is grounded on an inductive study of human nature, 
and especially of the passions, though its procedure there- 
after is rigidly deductive. Against the Platonists he main- 
tains that there are no intuitively known truths from which 
deductions can be drawn. 

Psychology. — Hobbes's account of human nature is 
based on a materialistic psychology. He believed that the 
only substances that exist are material bodies ; and also (as 
the mechanical discoveries of Galileo had suggested) that 
all the qualities and changes of matter are reducible to rest 
and motion. (God, the first cause of all things, no doubt 
exists ; but his nature is utterly unknowable to us, and so it 
would be an idle use of terms to call him a substance.) Con- 
sciousness is only a form of motion in which certain bodies 
may be put. Of course that is not what it appears to be ; 
and hence Hobbes is led to distinguish between the conscious 
process as it appears (which he calls l fancy ') and as it really 
is. Sensation, for example, is really the elastic rebound of 
the central nervous organ after it has momentarily yielded 
to some pressure from without ; but the ' fancy ' of sensa- 
tion is some particular color, taste, smell, sound, or feeling. 

1 In reading his works, the student must bear in mind that whenever a 
word or phrase has been defined it must always be understood exactly as 
defined (except, of course, where there is reason to think that a real con- 
fusion exists) ; for Hobbes uses many common terms in uncommon senses. 
For example, according to him, independent states are always at war with 
each other ; but the proposition is not nearly so alarming as might be sup- 
posed. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 179 

So imagination (or memory, which is the same thing) really 
is the gradually subsiding vibration that lingers after sensa- 
tion ; while the ' fancy ' is a less vivid likeness of the ' fancy ' 
of sensation. So also endeavor is the faint beginning of a 
voluntary motion toward, or away from, some object, being 
in the one case desire and in the other case aversion; but the 
' fancy ' of desire is pleasure, and the ' fancy ' of aversion 
is displeasure, or pain. To desire a thing and to be pleased 
with it are thus, for Hobbes, but two sides of the same fact ; 
and so also are to be averse to a thing and to be displeased 
with it. All the passions of men are simply desire and aver- 
sion for different sorts of objects and under different sorts 
of circumstances ; as, for example, hope is desire with the 
expectation of getting the object ; despair is desire without 
any such expectation ; charity is desire that some one else 
shall obtain what he desires. Desires and aversions are 
either instinctive or acquired. The origin of the latter is 
that we desire whatever experience shows is apt to be fol- 
lowed by pleasant effects, and are averse to what is apt to be 
followed by unpleasant effects — or even what we are not 
sure will be harmless. 

Theory of Values. — We are now prepared for Hobbes's 
definition of ' good ' and c evil.' " Whatever is the object 
of any man's appetite or desire, that is it which he for his 
part calleth ' good ' : and the object of his hate and aversion, 
'evil \ . . . For these words . . . are ever used with rela- 
tion to the person that useth them, there being nothing sim- 
ply and absolutely so." In other words, we do not desire 
things because they are good ; but their being good means the 
fact that we desire them. If A desires a thing and B does 
not, the thing is good for A and not good for B. If a dispute 
arises between them as to whether the thing is good or not 
(as, for example, when a money payment has to be made in 
case the thing is good), the only way to settle it is to lay it 
before an arbitrator — either some one agreed upon by the 



180 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

disputants or some one legally appointed to judge such cases 
— whose decision is accepted as authoritative. There is 
nothing in the thing itself upon which a universally valid 
judgment of good or evil can be based. 

Hobbes not a Hedonist. — We should note very carefully 
that Hobbes is not, strictly speaking, a hedonist. According 
to him pleasure is not good, for it is not desired; it is the 
1 fancy '-side of the process of desire itself. One might then 
as well say that desire is good. Of course he does hold that 
pleasures (in the plural, meaning pleasant experiences) are 
good ; for their being pleasant means that they are de- 
sired, which is as much as to say that they are good. This 
distinction is one which Hobbes's contemporaries, and 
indeed most of his successors, failed to appreciate; and 
accordingly he has been generally known as an Epicurean. 
Perhaps he was not perfectly clear about the matter himself. 

In what Sense an Egoist. — If Hobbes is not a hedonist, 
there is nevertheless some reason to class him with Epicurus 
as being an egoist. From his definition of ' good ,' he at 
once infers that no man ever desires anything save his own 
good. This in itself is insignificant enough, for it means 
no more than that every man desires what he desires. But 
Hobbes puts his egoism in more definite terms. Pleasures, 
he says, are either of sense (that is, arising directly from the 
perception of a present object) or of the mind (that is, arising 
from expectation of consequences) ; and the latter are all 
reducible to glory, or the pleasure arising from the imagina- 
tion of one's own power (or means of accomplishing his 
desires). Thus the pleasure that men often take in giving 
pleasure to others, even without hope of any return, arises 
from the imagination of the power so employed. " There 
can be no greater argument to a man of his own power, than 
to find himself able not only to accomplish his own desires, 
but also to assist other men in theirs." Parental affection is 
of this sort. Similarly, pains are either of the body or of 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 181 

the mind ; and the latter are all reducible to dejection from the 
imagination of weakness. For example, pity, or sympathy 
for another's misfortune, arises from the imagination of a 
like misfortune as occurring to oneself ; and that is why, 
in so far as men think themselves exempt from misfortune, 
they cease to have pity for others. 

The student should note, however, that Hobbes's theory 
does not imply that we are charitable and sympathetic 
only for the sake of some future good to ourselves, or in order 
to avoid some future evil. The father does not care for his 
children in order that he may have the sense of power ; but 
he desires to do so because the thought of caring for them 
suggests to him the sense of power. The good Samaritan 
does not pity the wounded traveler in order to ward off a 
similar evil from himself ; but he pities him because the sight 
of his distress suggests to him the thought of a similar evil 
to himself. The relation is one of cause and effect, not of 
means and end. Thus, if egoism is defined as the doctrine 
that men desire the good (and are averse to the evil) of others, 
only for the sake of securing some further good (or of avoid- 
ing some further evil) to themselves, Hobbes is not an egoist. 1 
He does, however, believe that, as a matter of fact, the vast 
majority of mankind are exceedingly selfish. 

The Laws of Nature. — Such being Hobbes's theory of 
good and evil, his account of moral laws, or laws of nature, 
need not surprise us. They are general rules, discovered 
by reason, for self-preservation. They direct one not to do 
what endangers his life, and not to omit what best preserves 
it. Thus, since intemperance leads to sickness and death, 
it is a moral law to be temperate; and, similarly, it is a moral 

1 Hobbes defines 'cruelty' as "contempt, or little sense, of the calamity of 
others," not as pleasure in it. And he adds: "For that any man should 
take pleasure in other men's great harm, without other end of his own, I 
do not conceive it possible." But the pleasure which we take in small 
mishaps to others (at which we laugh), and the grief which we feel at their 
greater misfortunes, are indeed without ulterior ends of our own. 



182 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

law to be brave, i.e. to face dangers unhesitatingly when they 
cannot without greater danger be avoided. Every man is 
instinctively averse to death, as the greatest of evils; and 
though sometimes other evils (such as infamy) appear to 
be still greater, so that men choose death in preference, yet, 
as a general rule, the fear of death is the strongest of all 
passions. Hence, breaches of the moral law may generally 
be regarded as due to ignorance. 

The laws of nature in which Hobbes is especially inter- 
ested are those which relate to the maintenance of social 
security. For a proper understanding of his ethics some 
knowledge of his theory of society is therefore necessary. 

2. The State of Nature 

Society is Artificial. — Here we are at once startled by a 
proposition which Hobbes declared to be demonstrable from 
the preceding account of human desires and aversions — 
namely, that man is not naturally a social animal, or is not 
naturally adapted to social life. He thus demolishes at one 
stroke the whole basis of the orthodox theory of the laws of 
nature. Let us see how he proves his case. 

The Persistence of Desire. — Since pleasure is but one 
side of the process of desire, there is no such thing as the 
" repose of a mind satisfied.' ' To enjoy is to desire to con- 
tinue to possess. Human happiness, at any rate in this 
world, is a progress of desire from one object to another; 
each end attained being only a stepping stone to some further 
end. There is no summum bonum in the possession of which 
desire can rest. Desire, like sensation and imagination, 
ceases only with life itself. Hence all men seek not only to 
obtain, but also to secure to themselves, the means of happi- 
ness. For the most part the means of happiness are limited. 
One man's possession means another's deprivation. Hence, 
human power is relative; that is to say, to be strong means 
to be stronger than one's competitors. Accordingly, there 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 183 

is in all men " a perpetual and restless desire of power after 
power " ; not for the sake of more intense pleasures, or 
because they would not be content with a moderate power ; 
but because more power is always necessary to protect 
what they already have and others already covet. 1 

The Causes of Quarrel. — Now, as we see men about us, 
their powers are very unequal. But this inequality is due 
to civil institutions. Naturally (i.e. before the establish- 
ment of states) all men are practically equal ; for the strong- 
est cannot save himself from sudden death at the hands of 
the weakest, and the intellectual differences between them 
are even less than the physical. Hence, where there is no 
fear of a supreme power, there must be unrestrained competi- 
tion, and from this constant quarrels must arise ; for there 
is no way to secure possession of goods like killing or driving 
off the competitor. Even though a man is not naturally 
contentious, fear will make him strike when opportunity 
offers, in order to forestall an ambitious neighbor. Add to 
this the fact that man's natural love of glory is enough to make 
him fight in order to secure respect from others. For the 
sense of one's own power is chiefly fed by the acknowledg- 
ments of it by others ; and hence every man wishes that 
others should value his powers (of whatever kind) as highly 
as he himself does. 

Universal War. — Greed, fear, and pride — these three 
passions are enough to keep the natural man in constant 
strife. Hence the state of nature is not society, but a war 
of every man with every man. Not that fighting must be 
always going on ; for war means not simply battle but insecurity 
from attack; just as peace means security. 

If it be objected that security is to be found in the love 
which all men naturally bear one another, Hobbes denies 
that there is any such universal love. We love some men, 
hate some others, and are indifferent to the rest. Those who 

1 As in the oase of a state which ' rectifies ' its boundaries. 



184 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

love each other may join together for protection ; but, aside 
from the fact that love is perishable, their numbers must 
be too small to give real security. The hope of booty may 
always raise a temporarily greater force against them. If 
it be said that the fear of divine punishment may restrain 
men from mutual hurt, Hobbes admits that it has such a 
tendency, but denies that the tendency is strong enough to 
produce security; for the fear of distant evils is of small 
effect. 

The State of Nature not Necessarily an Historical Fact. — 
This conception of the state of nature is, of course, a logical 
construct, deduced from a description of human passions, 
by considering to what they would lead if not kept in re- 
straint by the civil power. In other words, it is an abstrac- 
tion. Hobbes is not committed to the view that such a 
state ever existed in the world. In fact, if the terms be 
taken strictly enough, he does not believe that there ever 
did. For the mated pair are in general held together by 
love; and the child is necessarily subject to the authority 
of the father or mother, on whom he depends for his suste- 
nance. Within the limits of the family, therefore, the state 
of nature is impossible. Even allowing for this exception, 
Hobbes does not believe that the state of nature was ever 
universal among mankind ; but he thinks that the life of 
many savages illustrates it very well. And if that be not 
enough, he points to the attitude of independent states 
toward each other, even in time of so-called peace — "in 
continual jealousies, and in the state and posture of gladia- 
tors ; having their weapons pointing and their eyes fixed on 
one another . . . which is a posture of war " ; though by 
preserving peace within their borders they maintain the 
prosperity of their subjects. Nay, even within the protec- 
tion of the law, every man shows, by the ordinary care which 
he takes to protect his person and property, what the funda- 
mental tendencies of human nature are. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 185 

Misery of the State of Nature. — That man is by nature 
unfit for society, does not mean that he has not every reason 
to desire it. Indeed, he has. The state of nature being one 
of utter insecurity, there is in it no place for industry or 
commerce, for history, science, or art ; and the life of man is 
" solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." There is no 
established authority, no law, no justice or injustice, no 
property rights. Man's natural need of society is great 
enough. The question is, how is society possible for such a 
creature ? 

3. The Conditions of Peace 

The First Law of Nature. — The rules which reason shows 
must be followed for the establishment of peace are the most 
important of the laws of nature. The first and fundamental 
rule is to seek peace, whenever there is hope of obtaining it. Of 
course, when peace cannot be had, a man has no motive not 
to secure himself by any other means which are in his power ; 
which Hobbes calls the right of nature. In the war of every 
man against every man, each is governed by his own reason 
alone ; and since anything that he can use may help in the 
struggle, he has a natural right to all things — even to an- 
other's life. 

The Limitation of Rights. — The establishment of peace 
involves a general surrender of this unlimited liberty. 
Hence, where peace requires it, each man must be content 
with so much liberty toward other men as he is willing that 
others shall use toward him ; which is the second law of 
nature. In place of the natural right of all men to all things, 
there thus arise exclusive rights to person and property — 
rights in the proper sense of the term. 

Here a new problem emerges, which is of prime importance 
in the sequel. A right of nature (like an exclusive right) can 
be surrendered only by expressing one's intention not to 
continue to exercise it. How, then, can the surrender be 



186 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

made effectual? What can keep a man from changing his 
intention and reasserting his right? Only the fear of some 
inevitable evil consequence. Hence if peace is to be estab- 
lished, a power must be created which is capable of inspiring 
such fear. 

Inalienable Rights. — The surrender of a right is a volun- 
tary act ; and hence its object must be some good to the 
agent. Rights, therefore, for the loss of which no compensa- 
tion can be made, cannot be surrendered. Thus the right 
of self-protection is inalienable, for self-protection is the 
ultimate purpose for which all rights are surrendered ; and 
so also is the right not to accuse oneself or any one, " by 
; whose condemnation a man falls into misery/' of crime. 

The Performance of Contracts. — The third law of nature 
is that which is the basis of the distinction between justice 
and injustice. It is that men carry out their contracts; 
that is to say, deliver at the appointed time any goods to 
which, for a consideration, they have given another the 
right. That this is necessary to peace, and so truly a law 
of nature, is evident from the fact that if contracts were not 
generally fulfilled, they would not be made ; and hence men 
would be constantly led into violence in order to supply their 
needs. Not to perform contracts is unjust; all other acts 
or omissions are just. (Why disobedience to law is unjust 
appears in the sequel.) Here again it is to be observed that 
in the state of nature, where there can be no assurance that 
a man will do as he has contracted, no effective contract 
can be made — unless both parties act together under each 
other's eyes. For the one who should act first would be 
simply subjecting himself to the other's caprice. A power 
that can compel the performance of contracts is therefore 
necessary before there can be justice or injustice. 

The Universal Formula. — The remaining laws of nature 
— Hobbes enumerates nineteen — may be passed over here. 
They call for gratitude, mercy, modesty, impartiality — in 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 187 

short the type of conduct which makes it practicable for 
men to live together in society. All, as Hobbes says, may 
be comprehended in the single formula : " Do not that to 
another which thou wouldst not have done to thyself." 

4. The Function of the State 

The Laws of Nature Eternal. — There are two important 
comments which Hobbes makes upon the laws of nature 
as thus set forth. The first is that they are eternal and 
unalterable. For they are deduced from perfectly general 
characteristics of human nature. So long as men exist, 
they cannot be secure of life and limb except where peace 
prevails; and the laws of nature which we have discussed 
are the necessary conditions of peace. 

But Not Universally Applicable. — The second comment 
is that a good part of moral conduct is practicable only where 
one has good reason to expect similar conduct from others, 
i.e. in a state of peace. " Force and fraud are in war the 
cardinal virtues." To be alone in keeping faith is mere 
self-destruction, and hence is contrary to the end of all moral- 
ity, which is self-preservation. In the state of nature, 
therefore, all that the laws of nature unconditionally dictate 
is a willingness to follow them whenever circumstances seem 
to make it practicable. The first law states this explicitly : 
Seek peace, whenever there is hope of obtaining it; and all the 
succeeding laws are dependent upon this. Nevertheless, 
certain of the laws are always practicable — for example, 
the law of mercy (that revenge should be indulged in only 
for the sake of future security). This is true, of course, 
of the precepts of individual life, such as Be temperate, and 
Be brave. But these are not sufficient to make life secure. 

The Civil Power. — The question therefore arises in an 
acute form : How can morality be made generally practi- 
cable ? Hobbes answers : Only by the establishment of 
civil government. A power must be set up which is able to 



188 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

punish all serious breaches of the law of nature within its 
domain, whether committed by one man or by any combina- 
tion of men. Such a power can be created only by a general 
submission of all the men to one man or assembly of men ; 
that is to say, by an express or implied contract of every 
man with every other, not to resist the will x of a certain man 
or assembly of men, which thus becomes possessed of the 
joint power of them all. This man or assembly is the sov- 
ereign; those submitting are the subjects. If the sovereign 
be one man, he is called a monarch; if it be an assembly, it 
may be aristocratic or democratic, i.e. contain either some or 
all of the subjects. In any case the powers and functions 
of the sovereign are the same : to enact laws, appoint sub- 
ordinates, judge controversies, punish crime, reward public 
service, and carry on war. These powers are theoretically 
inseparable; that is to say, in so far as they are separated 
the state is not a true state ; and to that extent insecurity, 
or civil war, prevails. 

Relation between the Civil Laws and the Laws of Nature. 
— The object of the state is to make morality practicable. 
Hence the moral laws are an essential part of the civil laws 
of every true state. If the sovereign issues a command 
that contradicts the moral law, it strikes at public security, 
and in so far makes the state not a state, and thus assails 
its own supremacy. To a certain extent the moral law leaves 
matters open which the civil law must determine in one way 
or another. Thus if morality is to be established, the dis- 
tinction between mine and thine must be enforced. But 
how it shall be determined what is mine and what is thine, 
the sovereign must declare. So also indiscriminate homicide 
can never be permitted ; but just what constitutes unjusti- 
fiable homicide is for the sovereign to say. 

On the other hand, the moral law enjoins obedience to 

1 Except, of course, for direct self-preservation or its equivalent, the 
natural right to which is inalienable. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 189 

the civil laws, because it is only by such obedience that 
the state can be preserved and peace maintained. Thus 
the moral law and the civil law contain each other. 

III. Cud worth \J 



Misinterpretation of Hobbes. — Such, in outline, is the 
system of ethical speculation which so profoundly shocked 
the honest folk of England. Calmly considered and clearly 
understood, there is nothing very extraordinary in its teach- 
ings. But it was not calmly considered, and it was scarcely 
understood at all. The Cambridge Platonists were espe- 
cially indignant at what they considered to be an attack upon 
the eternal validity of moral laws (which Hobbes sturdily 
maintained), making them dependent upon the arbitrary 
will of the sovereign — not observing that for Hobbes a 
sovereign is a sovereign only in so far as it maintains the 
moral laws. 

Moral Distinctions Independent of the Will. — Ralph 
Cudworth's Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable 
Morality was not published until 1731, when the Hobbian 
controversy had long given way to other issues, and its direct 
influence was therefore very slight. But it contains in brief 
compass (in its first two chapters) the best statement of the 
Platonist position which we possess. No real distinctions 
(says Cudworth) can depend upon mere will, whether it be 
man's will or God's. White things can be made black, and 
round things can be made triangular; but the difference 
between white and black, round and triangular, belongs to 
the eternal ' nature of things,' which God himself cannot 
alter. So long as a thing is round it is round and not trian- 
gular, and it has all the properties that distinguish round 
things from triangular things. Merely willing it to be trian- 
gular affects it not at all. So it is with the distinction be- 
tween moral good and evil. That, too, is eternal. Mere 
will cannot make anything right or wrong — cannot, that is, 



190 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

impose or remove a moral obligation. To be sure, when a 
legitimate ruler issues a command (which does not exceed 
his authority), his subjects ought to obey him; and thus 
certain acts which were formerly permissible to them be- 
come wrong. But that is only because, prior to this com- 
mand, it was already obligatory upon the subjects to render 
him a certain measure of obedience. The authority of 
statutes thus rests upon the absolute authority of the eternal 
laws of natural justice. How effective this is as a reply to 
Hobbes the reader can easily estimate. 

IV. Cumberland 

Intellectual Character. — It remains for us to speak of the 
great Bishop of Peterborough, Richard Cumberland. While 
Cumberland's fame is far inferior to Hobbes's, his positive 
influence upon the future of English ethics was probably 
much more extensive. Hobbes, with all his genius, was an 
exceedingly narrow-minded man. One clear view of a sub- 
ject satisfied him. He never tried to see it from a second 
angle. As we read his pages we find much that is true, 
much that is instructive, but little that is satisfactory. 
Cumberland was of a very different type — preeminently 
broad-minded, tireless in his endeavor to see his subject 
from every point of view. The consequence is that though 
much that he wrote is weak, his work as a whole is of great 
importance. 

Problems. — Cumberland wrote his treatise (De Legibus 
Naturae, 1672) in reply to Hobbes ; but, as he himself felt, 
its main importance is not critical but constructive. He 
states and discusses four main problems of ethics : (1) What 
is the nature of good and evil in general? (2) What is the 
nature of moral good and evil ? or, as it is otherwise put, What 
is the content of the laws of nature? (3) What is the psycho- 
logical origin of the laws of nature ? (4) What is the nature of 
man, and for what manner of life (social or solitary) is he 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 191 

accordingly best fitted? But before taking these questions 
up there is a preliminary point to be made clear. 

The Laws of Nature as Conditions of Happiness. — It 
will be recalled that according to Hobbes the laws of nature 
are not laws until they have entered into the civil laws of 
some state. They are merely the logically demonstrable 
conditions for the attainment of a certain universally de- 
sired end — self-preservation. It is one of Cumberland's 
primary objects to show that even prior to the establishment 
of states the laws of nature were indeed laws ; that is to say, 
laws of God, clearly promulgated by him, and enforced by 
promises of reward and threats of punishment. 

But the difference between the two men is not fairly put 
in this way. Cumberland is, to all intents, what was later 
called a deist; in fact his ethical treatise is one of the prin- 
cipal sources of English deism. He thinks of God as the 
intelligent first cause of all things. Aside from the interfer- 
ence of man's free will, all that goes on in the universe, 
whether physical or mental, takes place according to uni- 
versal uniformities established by God at the creation; so 
that everything that happens is a necessary consequence of 
the original arrangement which he, in his omniscience, gave 
to things then. 1 The consequence is that his proof that 
God has promulgated the laws of nature amounts only to 
showing that these laws are so obvious as to arise inevitably 
in men's minds, without the necessity of voluntary atten- 
tion. The proof that God has annexed to these laws both 

1 Cumberland does not, indeed, deny the possibility of miracles and special 
providences. As an orthodox churchman, he devoutly believes in both. 
But they play no essential part in the scheme of things, as he views it, and 
he generally ignores them. He believes, too, in a future judgment, by which 
the good shall be consigned to heaven, and the wicked to hell. But this 
also is a consideration which he is content for the most part to ignore. 
Moreover, he wishes his work to be scientific; he wishes it to make a uni- 
versal appeal to thinking men, independently of all religious dogma ; and 
again this helps to make his position essentially that of a deist. 



192 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

promises and threats consists only in showing that obedience 
to them is obviously the most important means of securing 
happiness. Practically speaking, one may drop God, who 
has done his part, out of the argument altogether, and con- 
sider the laws of nature as the obvious and essential conditions 
of happiness. And, as a matter of fact, Cumberland, instead 
of stating the laws in the form : Do thus and so, or I, the Lord 
God, will diminish thy happiness, prefers the simple declara- 
tive form : To do thus and so constitutes the greatest happiness 
of the agent. The real difference, then, between him and 
Hobbes is not that he includes in his scheme a divine sover- 
eign whom Hobbes omits, but that he views morality in its 
relation to happiness, whereas Hobbes views it in relation to 
the preservation of life as such. 

(1) Energistic Theory of Values. — In his general theory 
of values Cumberland follows the Aristotelian tradition. 
Happiness is, for him, a mode of life, the full and free activity 
of the healthy organism. Things in general are good, ac- 
cording as they preserve or enlarge the powers of the mind or 
body, and thus contribute to make the happy life possible. 

But Cumberland regards the difference between this view 
and hedonism as unimportant. Since pleasure is an invari- 
able accompaniment of the happy life, he sees no objection 
to identifying happiness with pleasure rather than with the 
life itself. He does, however, object decidedly to Hobbes's 
theory, that the good is for any man that which he desires. 
We desire, he says, what we conceive to be good; and in this 
we may be, and often are, mistaken. Whether a thing is 
good or evil to a man is not determined by its relation to his 
passing inclinations, but by its actual influence upon his 
happiness. And while some things are good for one man, bad 
for another, there are also things which are good for whole 
multitudes at once — such as peace — and so may properly 
be called common goods. Peace does not cease to be a com- 
mon good because some fool desires to disturb it. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 193 

(2) All Morality reduced to Benevolence. — Cumber- 
land believes that all the laws of nature are contained in one 
fundamental law : Be as benevolent as possible to all rational 
beings: or, as he states it (with its sanction) : " The greatest 
benevolence of every rational agent toward all the rest con- 
stitutes the happiest state of each and all of the benevolent, 
so far as it is in their own power ; and it is necessarily req- 
uisite to the happiest state which they can attain; and 
therefore : The common good is the supreme law." 1 

Property Rights. — That all morality is reducible to be- 
nevolence Cumberland regards as fairly evident, except in the 
case of justice. The absoluteness of property rights often 
seems to result in much misery — as when a single wealthy 
reprobate wastes resources that might support many poor 
and honest folk in comfort. Cumberland's treatment of 
this point left a deep impress upon English thought. Some 
goods, he said, to be enjoyed must be divided ; and, that they 
may be fully enjoyed, their possession must be secure. 
Grant that the present division of property is not ideal. It 
is very tolerable, since under it we do enjoy the happiness 
which we actually enjoy. And when the dangers of anarchy, 
from the unsettling of established rights, are considered, no 
man or assembly of men is competent to devise a new divi- 
sion so much better than the present, as to warrant us in 
risking the attempt to change. 2 Hence, benevolence dictates 
that we leave to every man his own. 

(3) The Laws of Nature learned from Experience. — 
The question as to the origin of the laws of nature is a par- 
ticular form of the question which the philosopher Locke 
later asked with regard to human ideas in general ; and it is 
answered in much the same fashion. We have no reason to 
suppose that any of our ideas or principles are innate. We 
can account for the origin of all of them in experience. Cum- 
berland is, in fact, a much more thorough-going empiricist 

1 De Legibus Naturae, Ch. I, Sect. IV. 2 Op. ciL, Ch. VII, Sect. IX. 

o 



194 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

than Locke. For while Locke thinks that all our ideas are 
derived from experience, he further thinks that, when once 
the ideas have been acquired, we can compare them together 
in the mind, and thus obtain an intuitive knowledge of cer- 
tain fundamental truths. Cumberland, on the contrary, 
believes that the fundamental truths, too, are learned from 
experience. And the type of certain knowledge is for him, 
not the mathematical axioms that men generally regard as 
self-evident independently of experience, but such proposi- 
tions as All men are mortal, which are obviously learned from 
experience. 

How they are Learned. — It is incumbent upon him, there- 
fore, to show (a) how the ideas contained in the law of uni- 
versal benevolence, and especially the notion of a common 
good, inevitably arise in the mind; and (b) how the con- 
nection between them, which the proposition asserts, is 
impressed upon the mind with such evidence, that no sane 
and unprejudiced man can doubt it. 

(a) Origin of the Constituent Ideas. — The notion of good 
we all derive from the food, clothing, and shelter, and the 
mutual aid, by which our lives are supported and cheered. 
The human affection by which aid is prompted we thus 
conceive as a good will, or benevolence. It is obvious that 
through counsel as well as by physical aid our benevolence 
may help great numbers of men. From the close resemblance 
between us we see that the helper can be repaid, and that by 
mutual aid men may be supplied with many things ; whereas, 
if hostility took its place, the utmost want and imminent 
danger of death would ensue. Hence the notion of a common 
good; which, by reason of our likeness to each other, may 
easily embrace all whom we may ever know. 

(o) Their Necessary Connection. — We see that the in- 
dividual can have no greater defense and no greater positive 
source of happiness than the sincere benevolence of all to- 
ward all — in the general effects of which he shares — 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 195 

together with the more particular benevolence, or friend- 
ship, of some few chosen individuals toward himself. And 
we see in ourselves, as well as in the behavior of others, 
that there is no way to encourage either general benevolence 
or friendship to be compared with the manifestation of the 
same affection in one's own acts. (Cumberland adds that 
if it is the favor of the first cause that is to be won, we surely 
cannot please him better than by our good will toward him 
and toward his human children.) Hence the obvious proof 
of the proposition to be proved. 

Cumberland regards these simple considerations as in 
themselves fairly convincing. But he supplements them by 
another line of thought, in which account is taken, not of 
the consequences of benevolence, but of the intrinsic charac- 
ter of the benevolent life. 

(4) The Social Nature of Man. — Is man by nature fitted 
for society?^ Hobbes pointed out certain characteristics 
of men that tend to make him unfit for society, and con- 
cluded that, beyond the limits of small families, he is not 
naturally social. In reply, Cumberland undertakes a de- 
tailed examination of man's physical and mental traits with 
a view to determining the truth of the matter; and he 
emerges with the conclusion that man is certainly adapted to 
a social life. Much of the discussion is antiquated, and at 
some points it is fantastic or trivial ; but it is on the whole 
convincing. The power of forming conceptions and uni- 
versal propositions ; the faculty of speech ; the power of 
deliberation ; the emotions of love, pity, and gratitude ; the 
persistency of parental affection; the variety and delicacy 
of the means of the expression of the emotions — these are 
quite sufficient to refute Hobbes's extreme contention. 1 

1 The possibility remains, to be sure, that our present mode of existence 
is vastly more social than that to which man's organically inherited traits 
are adapted ; and that an important part, if not the whole, of the signifi- 
cance of morality consists in the fact, that by means of it man is made over 
in such a fashion that he becomes capable of a complexly and intensely social 
life. The truth would thus lie between Hobbes and Cumberland. 



196 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Social Service Essential to Happiness. — And now, since 
man is a social animal, it follows that his natural powers 
can be exerted in their due degree, only in the service of 
society. A life confined to selfish ends falls far short of man's 
capacities. That he may truly live, that he may adequately 
realize his own potentialities, he must devote himself to the 
common good. Not only is benevolence of supreme utility, 
but the benevolent life is in itself the supremely happy life. 

It is interesting to note that the word ' constitutes ' 
(constituit) in Cumberland's formation of the law of benev- 
olence is intentionally ambiguous, just in order to cover 
these two points. Benevolence ' constitutes ' happiness 
both as a contributing cause and as a part; or, as Cumberland 
puts it : " Benevolence is both the intrinsic cause of present 
happiness and the efficient cause of future happiness, and is 
necessarily requisite in respect of both." 



REFERENCES ON THE HISTORY OF MODERN 
ETHICS 

See references on the history of ethics, p. 104. 

Albee, E., History of English Utilitarianism. 

Stephen, L., The Utilitarians. 

Whewell, W., Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy in England. 

Hall, T. C, History of Ethics within Organized Christianity, pp. 

438-467. 
Mackintosh, J., On the Progress of Ethical Philosophy, chiefly during 

the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. 

REFERENCES ON THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN 
ETHICS 
Hobbes, T., Leviathan. 
Stephen, L., Hobbes. 
Taylor, A. E., Hobbes. 
Cud worth, R., Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS 197 

Cumberland, R., On the Laws of Nature (Maxwell's translation), 
especially Chs. I, II. 

Locke, J., Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book I, Chs. 
Ill, IV, 7, 8; Book II, Chs. VII, XX, XXI, XXII, 2, 9, 
XXVLI, 18-20, XXVIII, XXX, 4, XXXI, 3-5; Book III, 
Chs. V, esp. 3, 15, IX, 6-9, XI, 15, 16; Book IV, Chs. Ill, 
18-20, IV, 3-10, XII, X, 8, 11, XIV, 4; and Miscellaneous 
Papers (in Lord King's Life of John Locke, Vol. II), pp. 120- 
133. 



CHAPTER XI 

THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF THE EIGHTEENTH 
CENTURY 

I. Preliminaky Remarks 

Mode of Treatment. — In the present chapter we must 
briefly consider three important types of ethical theory. 
Partly for brevity's sake, but more for the sake of clearness, 
we shall limit ourselves to a schematic account of the views 
generally held by members of each school, without taking 
account of individual variations of opinion, except in a few 
instances where these are of unusual interest and importance. 

Hedonistic Theory of Values. — It will make matters 
easier for us, if we note at the outset (and bear in mind 
throughout) that all the thinkers with whom we shall have 
to deal were hedonists in their general theory of values. All 
are agreed that pleasure is the sole ultimate good and pain 
the sole ultimate evil. I say this in spite of the fact that 
Shaftesbury (the founder of the moral-sense school) expressly 
rejects hedonism, and declares for the Aristotelian view ; for 
in the details of his argument it is on the hedonistic theory 
that he constantly relies. The general acceptance of he- 
donism is largely due to the influence of John Locke, who gave 
forcible expression to it in his celebrated Essay concerning 
Human Understanding (1690), — a work which formed the 
background of English thought in the eighteenth century, 
and by which almost all the ethical writers were directly 
affected. 

Nativistic and Empiristic Theories of Moral Distinctions : 
Utilitarianism. — It was, then, not about values in general, 

198 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 199 

but about moral values in particular, that men disagreed, 
and especially about the mode in which these values are per- 
ceived. Two of the schools differ from the third in holding 
to a nativistic theory of the moral consciousness : they be- 
lieve that the capacity for moral approval and disapproval 
is an original endowment of human nature, not to be reduced 
to or derived from any other. The other school holds to 
an empiristic 1 view, maintaining that this capacity grows 
up in each man from the inborn tendency to desire pleasure 
and avoid pain. Hence it has been appropriately called the 
1 derivative school,' though a more common name for the 
theory is ' utilitarianism.' 

Intuitionalism and Sentimentalism. — The two nativistic 
schools differ essentially in this : that according to one school 
approval and disapproval are functions of reason, while 
according to the other they are feelings to which men (by 
virtue of their peculiar mental constitution) are subject. 
According to the one school, right and wrong are relations 
between different sorts of acts and different sorts of situa- 
tions, relations which exist independently of our perception 
of them. According to the other school, an act's being right 
or wrong means simply its capacity to stimulate in us a 
certain peculiar feeling. The term ' intuitionalists ' is 
sometimes loosely used to include both nativistic schools, 

1 The reader should not confuse the psychological term ' empiristic ' and 
the logical term ' empiricistic ' (from 'empiricism')- An empiristic theory- 
is a theory that some mental function, which is in question, is not innate in 
us, but is acquired by each individual — say through the process of associa- 
tion. Thus whereas nobody would think of entertaining an empiristic 
theory of color sensation, most psychologists hold to an empiristic theory 
of the visual perception of distance. Empiricism is a theory according to 
which all knowledge of general truths is derived by induction from particular 
facts. As we shall see, the English sentimentalists (mentioned in the next 
paragraph) are empiricists ; but their theory of the perception of moral 
good and evil is not empiristic but nativistic. On the other hand, the utilita- 
rians of the eighteenth century, while their theory of moral perception is 
empiristic, are rather rationalists than empiricists in their notions of scien- 
tific method. 



200 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

which are then distinguished as ' rational ' and ' perceptional. , 
We shall distinguish them as intuitionalists and sentimental- 
ists. 1 

The Typical Writers. — The student should realize that 
the differences between particular writers are not always so 
sharp as the main lines of cleavage between the three schools 
would lead us to expect. John Locke (whom we mentioned 
above) is a curious mixture of intuitionalism and the deriva- 
tive theory. Joseph Butler (Sermons upon Human Nature, 
1726), who partly on account of his position as a bishop of 
the English church, but far more on account of the sim- 
plicity, earnestness, and winning common sense of his writings, 
has had a lasting influence upon English ethics, shows affili- 
ations with both of the nativistic schools. In the account 
which follows, we shall have to neglect men of this sort, and 
fix our attention upon the more sharply defined types. Of 
the intuitionalists we shall bear particularly in mind Samuel 
Clarke (1706) and Richard Price (1758) ; of the sentimental- 
ists, Francis Hutcheson (1725 and 1755) and David Hume 
(1740 and 1751); of the utilitarians, John Gay (1731), 
William Paley (1785), and Jeremy Bentham (1789). 

Let us begin with the intuitionalists. 

II. Intuitionalism 

1. The Mathematical Analogy 

Mathematical Conception of Reason. — The key to the 
understanding of these men's views is that when they speak 
of ' reason ' they always have in mind the example of the 
employment of reason in mathematics. In order to make 
clear what they think about morals, the first essential is to 

1 The term ' moral-sense theorists ' is widely used instead of ' sentimen- 
talists ' ; but it strictly applies only to the earlier members of the school, 
who regarded the moral sense, or conscience, as analogous to the external 
senses, such as sight and smell. See below, p. 211. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 201 

explain what they think about geometry and algebra and 
their applications. 

(1) The Axioms. — The mathematical sciences take their 
rise from certain propositions (the ' axioms ') that need no 
proof, being self-evident. The knowledge of these truths 
is an innate capacity of human nature. Not that all men 
know them ; for very little children certainly do not, having 
never thought of them. But as soon as the ideas which such 
a proposition contains have been formed in the mind, and 
have been compared together in the way the proposition 
calls for — in other words, as soon as the proposition is 
understood — its truth is at once seen to be unquestionable. 
For we perceive an eternal relation between the ideas, and 
the perception of this relation is the knowledge of the axiom. 
Thus not every one knows that a straight line is the shortest 
line between two points. But as soon as any one has acquired 
the ideas of straight line and shortest line, and has com- 
pared them together in his mind, the relation of necessary 
coexistence between them is manifest. 

Now the intuitionalists hold that the like is true of our 
knowledge of right and wrong : that this knowledge too 
takes its rise from the perception of self-evident relations. 
A new-born child has no idea of himself or of his conduct, 
and it will be long before he has any idea of God. But as 
soon as he acquires these ideas and compares them together, 
he will see that a certain sort of conduct is fitting toward 
God, namely, love, worship, and obedience. In other words, 
that sort of conduct is right toward God, and a man ought so 
to act. Again, as soon as he compares himself and his fel- 
low men together, he sees that they ought to treat each other 
justly and kindly. And when he compares his own present 
condition with his possible future life of happiness or misery, 
he sees that he ought to be prudent. All these relations are 
as certain and obvious as the fundamental mathematical 
relations ; and like these they are no mere subjective im- 



202 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

pression of ours, but a part of the eternal nature of 
things. 

(2) Deductive Procedure. — From its axioms mathemat- 
ics deduces other propositions of narrower and narrower 
scope. The whole course of the argument is from the more 
general to the less general. And, finally, there is the appli- 
cation of the truths of the science to particular concrete 
circumstances. The application is always a deduction. 
For example : All triangles of sixty and thirty degrees have 
the hypothenuse double the shorter side ; this grass plot 
is a triangle of sixty and thirty degrees ; therefore, etc. 

The like is true of the case of morals. From the axioms 
we deduce a great variety of special duties under different 
conditions. And the application to the particular case in 
hand is in the same deductive way. For example: It is 
fitting that a man should show gratitude for kindnesses 
received ; this man shows gratitude for kindnesses received ; 
therefore his conduct is fitting. Or, negatively : This man 
does not show gratitude for kindnesses received ; therefore 
his conduct is unfitting, or wrong. 

The rules according to which conduct is fitting or unfitting 
are called ' moral laws.' If one does not know a moral law, 
one has no means of knowing whether the conduct that falls 
under it is right or wrong. 

(3) Truths Independent of the Will. — Mathematical 
truths do not depend upon any one's will, not even God's. 
It is only particular things — their existence, qualities, 
states, and relations — that can be affected by a will. The 
universal relations of which mathematics treats are neces- 
sary and eternal. God did not make two and two equal to 
four, and he could not make them equal to five. He need 
not have created anything at all, and he can, if he will, 
annihilate all that he has created ; but whenever and where- 
ever two things and two other things exist, there will be four 
things. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 203 

So also of the universal relations of fitness and unfitness. 
It is not due to any command of God's that certain modes 
of conduct should be fitting under certain conditions — that 
love and equity, for instance, should be fitting in the inter- 
course of man and man. 1 God need not have created man 
if he had not pleased, and he could have made him a very 
different sort of creature if he had so desired. But having 
made man, and having made him what he is, he does not in 
addition make man's moral relations. No, these flow in- 
evitably from man's nature. 

(4) Absurdity. — To think that two and two are five is 
to think absurdly. To act with unkindness towards one's 
fellow men — to act as if all men were not truly in need of 
one another's love and cooperation — is to act absurdly. 
And, speaking generally, wickedness is the same thing in 
act that falsity is in thought. It is setting oneself in opposi- 
tion to the eternal ' nature of things,' than which nothing 
could be more absurd. 

Here let us take our leave of the mathematical analogy, 
which from this point can give us little detailed help. 

2. Obligation. Reward and Punishment 

The Righteousness of God. — It is inconceivable that God 
should commit any absurdity. Hence we must suppose 
that in his own acts he always directs himself according to 
the moral law. All his doings are absolutely right. 

Moral Obligation. — In so far as man, too, is a rational 
being, it may be said to be his nature to act rationally, i.e. 
morally. And, as a matter of fact, we find in man a weak 
but fairly constant impulse to do the right. We do the right 
unless there is something in particular to be gained by doing 

1 Still less can such a relation depend upon the will of an earthly sovereign. 
(This is urged as a crushing criticism of Hobbes.) To be sure, when the 
sovereign bids me do a thing which was before indifferent, I ought to do it ; 
but that is because previous to his command I owed him obedience. 



204 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

wrong — or unless our nature has been perverted by habitual 
wrong conduct in the past. The idea of right conduct is, to a 
rational being as such, pleasant, and the idea of wrong con- 
duct unpleasant ; and we are always impelled toward what 
is pleasant in idea and away from what is unpleasant. The 
pity is that we are not purely rational, but also sensitive 
beings, constantly impelled by sensual inclinations to com- 
mit rational absurdities. And, indeed, if our sensual im- 
pulses did not to a great extent oppose one another and thus 
cancel out one another's force, our impulse to do right would 
have little sway over our conduct. This weak but constant 
tendency of our rational nature is called the feeling of moral 
obligation. It is a feeling, which, unlike all other feelings, 
is entirely independent of our sensations, having its source 
in reason alone. 

God's Commands. — Since God invariably directs his 
actions by the moral law, it cannot be but that he wishes us 
to act thus also ; for he cannot have created us with the in- 
tention that we should act against himself. But since his 
wish is thus manifest it amounts to a command. Right is 
not right merely because God commands it ; but he assuredly 
commands it because it is right. 

The Certainty of Reward and Punishment. — There is no 
real command without authority; and there is no real au- 
thority without the ability and the intention to reward obedi- 
ence or punish disobedience. (Of course, to miss a reward 
is in some sense to be punished, and to escape punishment is 
in some sense to be rewarded.) Now we cannot elude God's 
observation, nor can we resist his might. It is, therefore, 
certain, that the good must on the whole be happy, and the 
wicked miserable. 

The Future Life. — This is a conclusion that our observa- 
tion in this life does not verify. It is not true that in human 
affairs ' honesty is the best policy.' The best policy includes 
an occasional dishonesty when detection or punishment is 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 205 

improbable. And, aside from the matter of general policy, 
we note that accidents are constantly happening. We need 
little experience of the world to see that the righteous are 
often oppressed with suffering, while the unrighteous indulge 
in all manner of unrestricted pleasure. But this only proves 
that there must be a life beyond the present, in which the 
justice of God shall be made manifest, and the righteous and 
the unrighteous shall alike meet with their deserts. 

Summary. — Thus, while moral relations are independent 
of future reward and punishment, future reward and punish- 
ment are a necessary consequence of moral relations in such 
a world as ours. As it was sometimes expressed, right and 
wrong are logically prior to reward and punishment. It is 
because right is right and wrong is wrong that reward and 
punishment are themselves right and may be confidently 
expected from God. 

Reenforcement of Moral Obligation. — The expectation 
of a future reward and punishment is necessary in order to 
make it possible for the ordinary man to act rightly when 
such a course appears to be contrary to his temporal interests. 
There are men — heroes, we call them — in whom the feeling 
of moral obligation is so strong that even the utmost danger 
or pain cannot make them swerve from the course of right- 
eousness. But the vast majority of mankind are not so 
constituted. This was the great mistake of the high-sounding 
morality of the stoics, the mistake that made their teaching 
so ineffectual. The ordinary man cannot act rightly unless 
he believes that so doing will promote his own happiness, or, 
at least, not oppose it, and it would be unreasonable to expect 
him to do so. And therefore God has made the evidence of 
his existence and of his purposes toward man so clear and 
obvious, that if men were not the slaves of sensual lusts, 
none of them could possibly remain ignorant of these truths. 



206 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

3. The Universality of Moral Laws 

Such is the system of intuitionalism. To us of the twen- 
tieth century it seems hard and bare. To its advocates of 
the eighteenth century — and these were numerous — it 
seemed to possess certain strong recommendations. 

(1) Moral Laws are Objective. — It raised morality above 
the level of conflicting individual impressions, and gave it the 
status of objective truth. No man could set up a standard 
of his own and declare that by following his private con- 
science he was acting rightly. If his conscience was not in 
accord with the eternal moral law, so much the worse for 
him ; he was condemned already. He might as well claim 
that an addition, in which he had set down 8 and 5 as making 
14, was right, because that was the way it had seemed to him. 

(2) The Fundamental Laws are without Exceptions. — 
Moreover, according to this system, the fundamental prin- 
ciples of morals were seen to be universal, admitting of no 
particular exceptions. If injustice is wrong, nothing can 
make it right. The more special laws, being due to the 
application of the more general laws to changeable human 
circumstances, may indeed break down. The law, Thou 
shalt not kill, breaks down when we try to extend it to the 
soldier in battle or to the officer of the law, or even to the 
private citizen who acts in self-defense. That is because the 
law is thereby carried beyond the limits within which it is a 
valid application of first principles. But the first principles 
and all direct deductions from them are absolute. (The 
distinction is analogous to that between pure and applied 
mathematics.) 

Why was the universality of the fundamental laws felt 
to be important? Because moral practice was thus given a 
regularity, and social institutions a stability, that seemed 
to be otherwise impossible. In the eighteenth century, men 
were especially concerned to maintain the inviolability of 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 207 

property rights. Ethicists of all schools vied with each 
other in proclaiming their loyalty to this doctrine ; but the 
intuitionalists were no doubt in the best position to defend it. 
If the principle of justice is an axiomatic truth, there seems 
to be little room for any excuse for depriving a man of his own. 

(3) Moral Laws are Valid for All Men. — It belongs to 
the universality of the moral laws that they are valid every- 
where, and for all men. What is wrong for Peter is not 
right for Paul ; and what is wrong for the Greek is not right 
for the barbarian. Just so, there is but one geometry for 
all the nations. If differences in men's moral standards are 
reported to us by both ancient and modern writers, it may be 
said, first, that most of these reports are doubtless super- 
ficial and inaccurate. Secondly, men who are addicted to 
evil practices often profess to consider them innocent, though 
in their hearts they know them to be wrong. Thirdly, though 
the moral axioms are self-evident to one who attends to the 
significance, men who are led away by selfish desires may 
easily fail to attend ; just as, from lack of due consideration, 
it might never occur to a man that two intersecting straight 
lines cannot both be parallel to a third straight line. Lastly, 
such genuine differences in moral standards as do occur must 
be regarded as being due to the application of the same fun- 
damental principles to varying social conditions. 

(4) They are Changeless. — It goes without saying that 
moral principles are not only universal spatially, but tem- 
porally also. All apparent changes are explained away like 
the apparent differences between the morals of different 
climes. 

III. Sentimentalism 
1. Empirical Standpoint 

The Question of Fact. — But with all the advantages 
which the intuitionalistic theory can claim, the question 
remains : Does it square with the facts? And, in particular, 



208 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF '_ ETHICS 

when we see men committing noble or contemptible acts, 
is our approval or disapproval brought about by a piece of 
deductive reasoning — by an application of a general rule 
to the given case? And here let us not try to dodge the 
issue by saying that we reason, but reason unconsciously. 
Reasoning is a conscious process ; and unconscious reasoning 
is a preposterous contradiction in terms. If our approbation 
or disapprobation is the logical conclusion of a deductive 
inference, we should have no difficulty in attesting the fact. 
Can we ? 

Perceptions before Rules. — This was the question raised 
by the leaders of the sentimental school, and answered by 
them in the negative. These men were empiricists. To 
their mind the advancement of human knowledge is not so 
much deductive as inductive. The particular comes before 
the universal, the fact before the reason for the fact. And 
this attitude of theirs they show in the domain of morals as 
elsewhere. Their whole mental disposition inclines them 
to think that we first perceive the goodness or badness dis- 
played on particular occasions, and only later (if at all) learn 
to bring our perceptions under general rules. 

2. The Analogy of Beauty 

But the sentimentalists, too, are influenced by a pervasive 
analogy. As the example of mathematical relations was 
determinative for intuitionalism, so the example of beauty is 
determinative for the present theory. 

(l) The Immediacy of Perception. — When we look at a 
thing and find it beautiful, we do not — ordinarily, at any 
rate — reason out its beauty. We do not say, for example : 
Everything with such and such proportions is beautiful ; 
this object has those proportions ; therefore it is beautiful. 
Sometimes we may approach such a procedure, as when we 
note the conventional ' points ' of a fashionable breed of 
horses or dogs, or count the lines of an alleged sonnet to see 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 209 

if there are just fourteen. But ordinarily our impressions of 
beauty are gained in a much more simple and direct fashion. 
We look, and are impressed. That is why we can speak ap- 
propriately of a sense of beauty. To see that a woman is 
beautiful requires no more reasoning than to see the color 
of her hair. 

Now, according to the ethicists of the sentimental school, 
the case is plainly the same in the perception of the moral 
qualities displayed in conduct. When we see a man beating 
a little child, we do not have to reason thus : To torment one 
who is helpless is cruel ; this man is tormenting one who is 
helpless ; therefore he is cruel. No ; as we look a sensation 
of moral indignation arises spontaneously within us. And, 
similarly, if the child's mother, at the risk of serious injury 
to herself, should try to stop the beating, we should feel, far 
more quickly than we could reason, a glow of admiration for 
her courage and self-sacrifice. 

(2) Approval and Disapproval are Unanalyzable and In- 
voluntary. — The moral sense and the sense of beauty are 
like the external senses of sight, hearing, taste, etc., in the 
fact that they give rise to simple, unanalyzable sensations, 
that can be gained in no other way. The sensations derived 
from the moral sense are of two kinds : those of approval 
and those of disapproval ; either of which may occur in a 
great many different intensities and in all sorts of mixtures 
and fusions with other feelings. The moral sense and the 
sense of beauty are like the external senses in this too : that 
however much in the way of reflection and volition may precede 
the sensation, the sensation itself contains no reflection or 
volition. I may reflect whether I shall look out of the win- 
dow at the lawn, and I may finally will to do so. But in the 
sensation of green, as I then become conscious of it, there is 
nothing but the green itself. And so long as the same stimu- 
lus continues to act upon my visual organs, I shall continue 
to see that same green. So it is with the sense of beauty or 



210 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ugliness, of virtue or vice. My detestation of this man's 
cruelty, or my admiration for that woman's kindness, is 
perfectly spontaneous and involuntary. 

(3) The Idea-stimulus. — The moral sense and the sense of 
beauty differ, however, from the external senses in one all- 
important respect. The exciting cause of the external sen- 
sation is physical — a change of some sort in the nervous 
mechanism. The stimulus of the moral sense or the sense 
of beauty is an idea either of perception or of imagination. 
When, for example, I contemplate a fine painting, the sen- 
sations of color, with their various shades and intensities, 
are externally excited. The sensations combine with fainter 
images that are revived by association, to form an idea (or 
percept) of the object. This idea, now, is the direct stimulus 
of the sense of beauty. So the idea of an act of kindness 
may be the direct stimulus of the sensation of approval. 

The formation of the idea may be a very simple matter of 
direct perception ; or it may be a very complicated matter, 
involving much reflection and reasoning. Suppose, to take 
an extreme instance, that the object to be appreciated as 
beautiful or ugly is Shakespeare's King Lear. To form an 
adequate idea of the play as a whole may well test a man's 
utmost mental capacity. Or suppose that the act to be ap- 
preciated as good or bad is Henry the Eighth's declaration 
of the independence of the Church of England. Here again, 
in the formation of the idea of the moral action, the utmost 
critical ability of the historian may be called into play. The 
idea of the moral act of another person can never be quite 
so simply formed as the idea of an aesthetic object often is, 
because the moral act is essentially psychical in its nature — 
an unseen determination of the will, which the observer 
must imaginatively reconstruct from the evidences afforded 
by the external aspect of the act. It is only in one's own 
case that a direct perception of the inner motives of conduct 
is possible. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 211 

But, whether the formation of the idea be simple or com- 
plicated, the stimulation of the aesthetic or moral sense 
takes place always in the same way; and the aesthetic or 
moral sensation that results is equally a peculiar and ul- 
timate experience. 

The Sentiments. — This difference, which we have re- 
marked, between the sense of beauty and the moral sense, 
on the one hand, and the external senses on the other hand, 
came in time to affect the terminology of the school. The 
former were called sentiments. Nor was it a matter of ter- 
minology alone ; for the sentiments were treated as a class 
of emotions, differing from another class, the passions, in that 
sentiments are seldom very intense, while passions (such as 
love, fear, and envy) are usually much more intense than the 
sentiments and sometimes reach a very high degree of in- 
tensity indeed. It was believed, too, that the sentiments 
were like other emotions in this : that no idea is capable of 
exciting them unless it is accompanied by a sensation (or 
idea) of pleasure or pain (Hume). All this, however, did 
not change the fundamental feature of the theory. Moral 
and aesthetic approval and disapproval are elementary con- 
tents of the mind, spontaneously called up by their peculiar 
stimuli — not modes of rational judgment. 

(4) Relativity of Beauty and Virtue. — Nothing is beau- 
tiful or ugly, virtuous or vicious, in itself. To say that a 
thing is beautiful means simply that the contemplation of it 
arouses in us the feeling of aesthetic approval ; and to say 
that an act is bad means simp] y that the thought of this act 
arouses in us the feeling of moral disapproval. It is just as 
it is with the external senses. If there were no sense of 
sight, there would be no colors ; if there were no sense of hear- 
ing, there would be no noises or tones. If a man is without 
a moral sense, he is, in so far, like one born blind. There is 
no way of making up to him his defect ; and the world must 
ever remain for him devoid of virtue and vice. 



212 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

This is the feature of the moral-sense theory which called 
forth the most severe criticism : that it gave the moral dis- 
tinctions between right and wrong, good and bad, the same 
relativity as the distinction between red and yellow or hot 
and cold. (According to the intuitionalists, it will be re- 
membered, these distinctions are strictly objective, belonging 
eternally to the ' nature of things,' like the distinction be- 
tween equal and unequal or straight and curved.) For if 
morality is relative to feeling, then we must bear in mind 
that all feelings are individual. What is bright to one man's 
eyes may be dark to another's, and what is cold to one man's 
skin may be hot to another's. That may all be very well 
so far as beauty and ugliness are concerned — " There is 
no disputing about tastes." But as applied to moral good 
and evil it is abominable, for it resolves the whole order of 
society into anarchy. 

Uniformity of the Moral Sense. — The answer of the sen- 
timentalists to this criticism is that it is a gross exaggera- 
tion. Among normal, sound-minded men, the moral sense 
varies scarcely at all. Superficial critics often exclaim upon 
the prodigious differences between our moral standards and 
those of the ancient Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans, or even 
those of the French people of our own day. But these 
differences, great as they are, touch only the externals of 
conduct, and are for the most part to be justified by the very 
different conditions under which men in different times and 
places live. The appreciation of the underlying qualities 
of character remains practically constant. Thus the early 
Hebrews sanctioned polygamy, and we condemn it; and 
they regarded all plastic art as sinful, while we find it inno- 
cent. But in all times and places kindness, courage, loyalty, 
justice, and wisdom have been admired, and cruelty, coward- 
ice, treachery, injustice, and folly have been despised. The 
economic and social conditions which made polygamy jus- 
tifiable have disappeared ; and the temptation to idolatry, 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 213 

which made the representation of human and animal forms 
dangerous, is no longer prevalent. But the good heart and 
the evil heart are what they have always been. 

Moral Defectives. — The moral sense, it has been said, 
is uniform in its operation among all mankind. There are 
individuals whose moral sense has deteriorated, just as there 
are individuals whose sense of sight or hearing or taste has 
decayed; but these are readily recognized as abnormal. 
And, practically, these men no more disturb the values of 
morality than the blind or the deaf affect the greens or 
browns of the landscape or the shrill twittering of the 
birds. 

Infallibility of the Moral Sense. — The moral sense may 
from two different points of view be regarded as infallible. 
In the first place, since, as we have said, right means only 
what the moral sense approves and wrong what the moral 
sense disapproves, it follows at once that whatever the moral 
sense approves is right, and that whatever it disapproves is 
wrong. It is the same, of course, with the sense of beauty, as 
it is also with the external senses. What feels hot is hot ; 
what tastes sour is sour ; what seems beautiful is beautiful ; 
for, in respect to sense-qualities, to seem and to be are the 
same. The moral sense is infallible just because there is no 
standard outside itself by which it might be judged. 

In the second place, the moral sense (except in case of 
abnormality) is infallible because of its uniformity among all 
mankind. That is to say, if we judge one man's moral sen- 
timents by comparing them with the sentiments which other 
men receive from like objects, we find them to be in entire 
agreement. 

Error in the Idea-stimulus. — Here again we must bear 
in mind that the object which directly stimulates the moral 
sense is not an external fact but an idea ; and that in the 
formulation of this idea an indefinite amount of reflection 
and even abstruse reasoning may enter. Now any part of 



214 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

this reflective process may be seriously in error. Thus it 
may happen that a man of perfectly sound moral sense may 
appear to approve of the most dastardly crime. But that 
is because he has not formed a correct idea of it. His ap- 
proval is of the act as he conceives it to have been; and if he 
explains this conception of his to any other morally sound 
man, the latter will certainly agree with him. 

This is the way in which the moral-sense writers explain 
most of the variations in men's moral standards that are not 
to be ascribed to changed external conditions. As men 
learn to form clearer and fuller conceptions of conduct, 
their standards of righteousness naturally become more 
adequate. Not because the moral-sense has changed its 
action in the slightest, but because the intellectual stimulus 
to its action has changed. So much can be explained in this 
way that the later moral-sense writers gave up the notion 
of a defective moral sense. In cases where the earlier 
writers would have said that a man's mis judgments were 
certainly due to some intrinsic defect, the later writers blame 
all on ignorance, inattention, or faulty reasoning. 

(5) Utility of Rules. — Since the moral sense (like the 
aesthetic sense) acts spontaneously when its peculiar stimuli 
are present, what is the significance or utility of moral rules ? 
We do not need these rules in order to judge conduct, any 
more than we need aesthetic rules in order to see that a 
picture or a poem is beautiful. Why, then, do we have them 
at all? In the first place, the rules satisfy a certain intel- 
lectual curiosity. We are interested to determine what sort 
of objects stimulate our approbation or disapprobation ; and 
the rules sum up the results of our observation. Some- 
times the rules are based on insufficient observation, and 
hence do not always hold. Just as the study of the an- 
cient drama led critics to certain rules of the unity of time 
and place, which the modern romantic dramatists showed 
to be entirely without cogency; so in the field of morals 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 215 

men have jumped to such conclusions as, All dancing is wrong, 
which a wider experience fails to confirm. 

In the second place, our moral generalizations have an 
important effect upon the formation of the idea of the particu- 
lar conduct that is to be appreciated. The like is true, again, 
of aesthetic generalizations. If I am thoroughly convinced 
that the unities of time and place are sacred, I may sit 
through a performance of A Winter's Tale without being 
able to take in half the beauty of the drama. My previous 
expectations are so perverse that I cannot form other than 
a distorted notion of the whole ; and the play, as I see it, is 
really as poor as I take it to be. When a moral rule has 
become firmly fixed in a man's mind, it has a powerful in- 
fluence in directing his attention and in determining just what 
he shall notice. If I believe that all who dance are wicked, 
that fact may be sufficient to blind me to the utmost gen- 
erosity and courage. But it must not be supposed that this 
effect of moral rules is wholly bad. On the contrary, they 
fulfill a very important function. They give a stability 
to our moral reactions toward our fellows, that would other- 
wise be impossible. Our ideas are never a bare reproduc- 
tion or a full reproduction of the external reality. We 
cannot but add from our imagination ; and we cannot but 
neglect what does not appeal to our interests. The influence 
of moral rules may mislead us on occasion ; but in the ab- 
sence of all rules we might, for want of any proper direction 
of our attention, go even farther astray. 

3. Obligation 
Relation between Virtue and Happiness. — In our account 
of intuitionalism we gave due place to the doctrine that the 
good must ultimately be happy and the wicked miserable. 
There the proof turned upon the will of God, and verifica- 
tion was looked for in another world. The sentimentalists 
have a similar doctrine ; but, moved as they are by the spirit 



216 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of empirical science, they try to find evidence for their view 
in the common experience of mankind, maintaining that even 
here and now virtue is the good and vice the evil of every 
man. They try to show that the virtuous character is that 
which is in itself the source of the most enduring satisfaction 
and best predisposes one to the full enjoyment of all pleasures 
and to the calm endurance of all pains; and furthermore 
that it is only in so far as men are virtuous that they can hope 
for that loving companionship and cooperation of their 
fellows upon which human happiness largely depends. They 
try to show that vice is in itself a condition of uneasiness and 
turmoil, in which the higher pleasures are for the most part 
impossible and the lower pleasures quickly lose their savor ; 
and that even when the chances of fortune set the wicked 
man in a position of power and affluence, and visit the good 
man with poverty and affliction, the real advantage in all 
probability lies with the latter. They cannot claim (apart 
from the religious faith which they may have) that every 
good man is bound to be happier than every bad man ; but 
they do maintain that under any circumstances the chances 
that a man can increase his happiness by wrongdoing are 
practically nil. In other words, according to the sentimen- 
talists, it is never good policy to do wrong, even when this 
life only is considered. 1 

The Two ' Obligations.' — The term ' obligation ' is used 
by these writers in two senses. On the one hand, it is used 
to denote the fact that a certain course of conduct is the 
only right course under the given circumstances. To be 
' obliged ' to pay one's debts means, then, that not to pay 
them would necessarily be wrong. On the other hand, it 
may denote the fact that a given course of conduct can be 
counted on to bring the agent greater happiness than any 
alternative, so that to act otherwise would involve a sacrifice. 

1 The reader of the Republic cannot fail to observe that this is substan- 
tially the Platonic view. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 217 

In this sense, to be ' obliged ' to pay one's debts means that 
if one does not pay them one will have to suffer for it. The 
first interpretation gives us ' moral obligation/ or the ' ob- 
ligation of conscience ' ; the second, the ' obligation of self- 
love/ And the doctrine of the school is that these two ob- 
ligations, although logically distinct, are practically coin- 
cident. 

Feelings of Obligation. — It goes without saying that a 
man's moral obligation may diverge widely from what he 
feels to be for his best interests. But in that case his feeling 
as to his interests is mistaken ; whereas the feeling of moral 
obligation is infallible. To feel an obligation of self-love 
and actually to lie under such an obligation are not at all 
the same thing; to feel a moral obligation is to lie under 
it. 

In thus maintaining the distinction between moral ob- 
ligation and the obligation of self-love, the moral sense 
theorists are in accord with the intuitionalists. It will 
shortly be seen that this is a point upon which both of the 
nativistic schools differ from the utilitarians, according to 
whom moral obligation is simply the highest self-interest. 

4. The Stimuli 

The Further Question. — In the preceding pages it has 
been our aim to give an account of the sentimental theory, 
which, while not absolutely faithful to any one of the writers, 
fairly represents the common thought of the principal men. 
But there remains to be treated a question of maximum im- 
portance, concerning which their disagreement is too great 
to be reconciled. 

This question concerns the stimuli of the moral sense. 
What is their nature? Just as we might ask with regard 
to the stimuli of sound : What is the nature of auditory 
stimuli generally, and how do those which produce tone 
differ from those which produce noise ? — so we have to 



218 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ask concerning the stimuli of the moral sense : What is 
their nature generally, and how do those which produce 
approval differ from those that produce disapproval? 

Extent of Agreement. — On the general question all the 
writers are still so far in agreement as to hold that the stimu- 
lus is always the idea of a trait of character as it expresses 
itself in conduct. The moral-sense ethics is thus preemi- 
nently an ethics of virtue (in contrast to the intuitionalistic 
ethics of duty). 

Shaftesbury : Harmonious Character. — But immedi- 
ately disagreement sets in. According to Shaftesbury, 
approval is stimulated by any indication of an harmonious 
character, disapproval by any indication of an ill-balanced 
character ; and an harmonious character is one which is so 
organized as to be for the good of society (or of the human 
species) as a whole. To show more clearly what this amounts 
to, he divides all human propensities into three kinds : the 
natural (or benevolent) affections, the self-affections, and 
the unnatural (or malevolent) affections. And he finds that 
in the harmonious character the natural affections are very 
strong, the self -affections are moderate, and the unnatural 
affections are altogether absent. 

Hutcheson : Benevolence. — This theory soon led to 
one much simpler. According to Hutcheson, the one stimu- 
lus of approbation is benevolence, and the one stimulus of 
disapprobation is the yielding of benevolence to some stronger 
motive. Hutcheson attempts to show that all other virtues, 
such as courage, prudence, or justice, are reducible to benev- 
olence. Justice, for example, while it may involve an ap- 
parent disregard of certain personal interests, is always di- 
rected to the furtherance of more extensive interests. And 
courage, when not prompted by benevolent motives, is 
either morally indifferent or positively wrong. 

Butler's Criticism. — The question whether all virtue is 
reducible to benevolence was actively discussed by moral- 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 219 

sense theorists. Bishop Butler urged that while for God 
this might well be true, for man it could not be true ; for 
the simple reason that we have not sufficient intelligence 
and foresight to guide our conduct by a calculation of the 
interests involved. To try to live according to the dictates 
of pure benevolence would result most disastrously. We 
should soon be drifting into the most abominable crimes — 
all for the sake of the general happiness. For us, therefore, 
justice must always be a second virtue, irreducible to benev- 
olence. It was generally felt that Butler's position was 
the more sound. 

Hume : Sympathy. — According to Hume, the stimulus 
of approbation is any trait of character which is sympatheti- 
cally felt to be useful or immediately pleasant either to the 
possessor or (more importantly) to others who may be 
affected by his conduct. Disapprobation is aroused by any 
trait which is sympathetically felt to be harmful or im- 
mediately unpleasant to the possessor or others. The list 
of virtues and vices is thus greatly increased. Justice is 
valued wholly by reason of our sympathy for those who may 
generally be expected to benefit by it. Benevolence is 
mainly valued for a similar reason, but also because we sym- 
pathize with the immediate pleasure which the benevolent 
man feels in the practice of his virtue. Discretion, enter- 
prise, industry, frugality, sobriety, and perseverance are 
examples of virtues that are such because they are useful to 
their possessor. Courtesy, modesty, decency, and wit are 
immediately pleasant to others. Cheerfulness and self- 
respect are immediately pleasant to oneself. 1 

Adam Smith : Propriety and Merit. — Adam Smith's 
theory, in which the moral-sense school reached the limit of 

1 It may be recalled that Plato has a somewhat similar theory. Accord- 
ing to him all goodness and beauty is either useful or pleasant or both. The 
novelty in Hume's view lies in his recognition of the part played by sympa- 
thetic feeling. 



220 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

its development, 1 is of extraordinary importance, in spite 
of the fact that its psychological basis is slight. For Smith 
was a great observer of human nature in the large, even 
though his knowledge of its inner workings was defective. 
According to him, our sentiments of approbation and of dis- 
approbation are of two kinds : those of propriety (and im- 
propriety) and those of merit (and demerit). (1) The senti- 
ment of propriety arises in us, in the first instance, from a 
feeling of sympathy with the motives that actuate the agent 
whom we are observing. It is, so to speak, a sense of the 
accord of feeling between us; and though the sympathetic 
feeling itself may be painful, this sense of accord is pleasant. 
Thus a man shows indignation at a gross insult, and we feel 
a kindred indignation. This indignation itself is unpleasant. 
But at the same time we feel a pleasant sense of being able 
to sympathize with his indignation ; and this is as much as 
to say that we feel the propriety of his indignation. How- 
ever, it is to be observed, an actual sympathetic feeling is 

) * Theory of the Moral Sentiments (1759). It should be observed that 
Smith considered his theory radically different from that of the moral-sense 
school, though he recognized a certain kinship with Hume, in that Hume too 
had used sympathy as the basis of his explanation. The point is that Smith 
denies that there is any peculiar elementary sentiment of approbation or dis- 
approbation. "If we attend to what we really feel when upon different 
occasions we either approve or disapprove, we shall find that our emotion 
in the one case is often totally different from that in another, and that no 
common features can possibly be discovered between them. Thus the ap- 
probation with which we view a tender, delicate, and humane sentiment, is 
quite different from that with which we are struck by one that appears great, 
daring, and magnanimous. ... As the emotions of the person whom we 
approve of are, in those two cases, quite opposite to one another, and as our 
approbation arises from sympathy with those opposite emotions, what we 
feel upon the one occasion can have no sort of resemblance to what we feel 
upon the other." Smith's remarks here are, however, based upon any un- 
fortunate confusion between the sympathetic emotion (which, of course, re- 
sembles the other man's emotion) and the sentiment of approbation, which, 
according to his theory, must be quite distinct ; for even though the sym- 
pathetic emotion be unpleasant, the sentiment of approbation is pleasant. 
Smith is really much closer to his predecessors than he supposed. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 221 

not necessary as a stimulus to the sentiment of propriety. 
We may not be in the mood to sympathize ; or the lack of 
sympathy may even be due to permanent limitations which 
we recognize in our own character. It is enough if the con- 
ditions appear to us to be such that a normal observer (the 
" ideal spectator ") would sympathize. This normal ob- 
server is, of course, for each man an idealization of himself. 
Thus we all regard fortitude, the suppression of the signs 
of grief, as a virtue ; because we are easily led to sympathize 
when the signs of emotion are slight, but are repelled when 
they are excessive. Our sense of the propriety of our own 
conduct is throughout dependent upon our conception of 
the attitude of the ideal spectator. 

Similarly, the sentiment of impropriety is the feeling that 
we, or the ideal spectator, cannot sympathize. It is an un- 
pleasant sentiment, as that of propriety is pleasant. 

(2) Our sentiments of merit and demerit are aroused 
under conditions where we (or the ideal spectator) can sym- 
pathize with the gratitude or resentment which the agent's 
conduct may excite in those affected by it ; not their actual 
gratitude or resentment necessarily, but their gratitude or 
resentment if they should feel any. In other words, a senti- 
ment of merit or demerit is a feeling of the propriety of grati- 
tude or resentment. All of the more important virtues and 
vices fall under this head. When, for example, we see one 
man assisted in his need by another, we put ourselves in 
imagination in the place of him who has been assisted, and 
thus see his benefactor in the most favorable light; and 
even if the recipient of the favor does not respond in any 
way, we as it were respond in his place. 

Adam Smith's theory is thus, like Hume's, based upon 
sympathy. But there are two great differences. According 
to Hume, the sympathy is for the pleasant or unpleasant 
consequences of conduct. According to Adam Smith it is 
sympathy either for the motives of the agent himself, or for 



222 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the gratitude or resentment that may be aroused. Again, 
according to Hume, the sympathy is the actual sympathy 
of the person judging. According to Adam Smith, it may 
be only the probable sympathy of the ideal spectator. 

The Weakness of Sentimentalism. — We have given 
these details, because they serve to exhibit in striking fashion 
the weakness in the sentimental school that led to its ulti- 
mate overthrow. In their descriptive analysis of the moral 
life, these men had no rivals in their time. But their ex- 
planations took too much for granted ; and as time went 
on the assumptions were increased. The underivable moral 
sense was a good deal to manage at the outset ; but the more 
and more complex psychological mechanism imagined for 
its stimulation was too much for the theory to carry. It is 
therefore not surprising that even within the lifetime of 
Hume and Adam Smith the drift of opinion set in strongly 
in favor of utilitarianism. 

An Intuitionalist Criticism. — Utilitarianism we shall 
shortly have to consider. Here we must note an objection 
of the intuitionalists. The advocates of the moral sense 
have appealed to experience to show that the approval and 
disapproval are not a process of reasoning — not the appli- 
cation of a general rule to the particular case. The con- 
sciousness of a rule, they say, is superfluous. But, as a matter 
of fact, is it not rather the feelings that are superfluous ? Or, 
if they be not superfluous, is it not true, at any rate, that 
they can vary widely in quality and intensity without affect- 
ing the moral judgment? For let us admit that we have 
such feelings : that either accompanying our moral judg- 
ments or, perhaps, even preceding them, there arises in us a 
spontaneous sense of the charm of virtue and of the repul- 
siveness of vice. Let us admit, too, that these feelings have 
a real function in our mental economy. They reenf orce the 
rational consciousness of moral obligation, which, indeed, 
in most of us is none too powerful. Still the fact remains 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 223 

that moral judgment is one thing and the accompanying 
feelings another ; and that it is by the judgment that the 
distinction between right and wrong is ultimately decided. 
The mistake that the moral-sense theorists have made is in 
confusing the moral judgment, which is rational, with its 
emotional accompaniments. And as for the analogy of 
beauty upon which they lay so much stress, that is indeed 
more than an analogy; for the so-called moral feelings are 
really (at least in part) (Esthetic feelings — they are feelings 
of the beauty or ugliness of human conduct and character. Now 
it is true that virtue is beautiful and that vice is ugly ; but 
that does not justify us in confusing virtue with the beauty 
of virtue, or vice with the ugliness of vice. 1 

IV. Utilitarianism 
1. The Utilitarian Program 

Products, not Elements. — It will be recalled that utili- 
tarianism differs from the two theories which we have been 
examining, in holding that the perception of moral values 
is not a simple and original quality of human nature, but 
grows up in each man from psychological elements of a non- 
moral character. Conduct is morally good or bad, accord- 
ing as it tends to increase or decrease the happiness of all 
concerned. But we have no native impulse that forces us 
into good conduct, as thus denned ; and we have no native 
admiration or contempt for the good or bad ^conduct that 
falls under our observation. The feeling of obligation, the 
feeling of approbation or disapprobation, are products, not 
elements, of our experience. 

Much the same thing is to be said of the feeling of be- 
nevolence, which, aside from any sense of obligation, makes 

1 For Hume's discussion of a similar objection see Treatise of Human 
Nature, Book III, Part III, Sect. 1. 



224 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the good man desire the happiness of his fellow men inde- 
pendently of any consideration of his own happiness, even 
when a certain degree of self-sacrifice is called for. Benev- 
olence is not by any means a fiction. It is a real charac- 
teristic of human nature. But it is not natural in the sense 
of being original and elementary. 

Utilitarianism vs. Sentimentalism. — The moral-sense 
theorists are substantially correct — the utilitarians say — 
in their account of the moral experience of the man of de- 
veloped character. The recognition of moral good and evil 
is in such a man a matter of spontaneous feeling. The pos- 
sibility of performing a benevolent act is at once an impera- 
tive claim upon him ; and the perception of such an act is 
sufficient to arouse his approbation. And it may be well 
enough to label this fact of his nature a ' moral sense.' But 
the moral sense, like the benevolence of which it so warmly 
approves, and indeed all the higher human affections and 
impulses, is derived from the mere desire for pleasure and 
avoidance of pain. 

How does the Moral Being Arise? — Thus is determined 
the scientific program of the utilitarian school. Instead of 
contenting themselves with a mere description of moral 
experience, these men start from certain very simple and 
general psychological principles (which they regard as suffi- 
ciently established) and try to account for all the facts 
in terms of these principles. They try to show how from 
the infant, who is not yet a moral being, such a being 
arises. 

Rationalistic Method. — But, it is to be observed, they 
do not go about this by a study of the actual development 
of morality in children. Child psychology, founded by 
J. J. Rousseau in his Emile (1762), has no influence upon 
them. Nor do they take any systematic account of the 
historical development of morality in the race. Their 
theory is an ingenious logical construction, a reasoning out 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 225 

how, on the accepted principles, the origin of the moral 
being must take place. 

The Assumptions. — Let us, therefore, set down in sys- 
tematic order the principles which utilitarianism takes as 
its starting point. 

I. Pleasure is the only original object of desire, and pain 
is the only original object of aversion. 1 

II. The intensity of the desire or aversion is determined 
by the intensity and duration of the conceived pleasure or 
pain, together with its degree of probability or certainty, and 
perhaps also its nearness or remoteness in time. 

III. When we desire any circumstance A, and perceive 
that a second circumstance B is an efficient means of bringing 
about A, we are in so far led to desire B. We say, " in so 
far," because there may be other causes that tend to make us 
averse to B ; and in that case our resultant attitude will be 
the joint effect of all the causes acting together. Similarly 
of aversion : if we are averse to A, and perceive that B tends 
to produce A, we are in so far led to be averse to B. 

It follows that if we think of any future circumstance as 
directly or indirectly causing in us pleasure or pain, we de- 
sire, or are averse to, this circumstance proportionately. 

IV. When we have come to desire a circumstance as a 
means to some further end, this further end tends to drop 
out of our attention, and eventually out of consciousness ; 
so that we then desire the means ' for its own sake/ as we 
say. The like is again true of aversion. The stock illus- 
tration of this principle is the miser, who has once loved 

1 As regards the nature of desire or aversion, the utilitarians generally 
hold that it is a present feeling of pleasure or pain attaching to the idea of a 
future condition or event. Thus to desire the defeat of the French forces is 
to take a present pleasure in the thought of their defeat as occurring. And 
the statement, that we naturally desire our own pleasure, means that we 
are so constituted that the idea of a future pleasure is even now pleasant to 
us. However, this theory has been widely held outside the utilitarian 
school ; and we therefore do not set it down among their peculiar doctrines. 
Q 



226 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

his gold for what it will buy, but now loves it so ardently 
for its own sake that he is unwilling to part with it for 
anything. 

Thus, while pleasure is the only thing which we originally 
desire for its own sake, we are capable of learning to love for 
their own sakes an indefinite number of sources of pleasure. 
It is thus that we learn to desire, among other things, the 
happiness of our fellow men, or of particular men whom we 
love. It is in this way, also, that we develop our love of 
virtue and our detestation of vice — in other words, our 
moral sense. 

We are now ready to consider the utilitarian account of 
morality, which falls into two parts, treating respectively of 
obligation and of approbation and disapprobation. 

2. Obligation 

Two Problems. — It is to be explained how it is that men 
come to feel obliged to act in such a way as to promote the 
general happiness. Also, it is to be shown that they are, as 
a matter of fact, so obliged; and this latter point may con- 
veniently be taken up first. 

(l) Actual Obligation: Definition. — "Obligation is the 
necessity of doing or omitting any action in order to be 
happy " (Gay). To say that a man is obliged to act in a 
given way, is to say that if he acts otherwise he must neces- 
sarily lose in the amount of pleasure he experiences, as com- 
pared with the amount of pain. If we regard pleasures as 
positive quantities, and pains as negative, we may say that 
when a man acts contrary to his obligation, the algebraic sum 
of his pleasures and pains is diminished. 

Classification of Sanctions. — The pleasures and pains 
upon which obligations depend are called sanctions. These 
may be classified as follows : 

I. Natural, depending upon the causal connections of 
natural events (as distinguished from the behavior of per- 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 227 

sonal beings). In this way we are obliged to take sufficient 
food and avoid poisonous substances. 

II. Social, arising from the approval and disapproval, 
gratitude and resentment of our fellow men. In this way 
we are obliged to defer to public opinion. 

III. Civil, resting upon the system of rewards and pun- 
ishments established by the state. It is thus that we are 
obliged to be law-abiding citizens. 

IV. Divine, resting upon the will of God — the rewards and 
punishments which he will bestow upon men in the hereafter. 

To these may be added the internal sanction of conscience 
itself, our satisfaction or regret as we survey our own con- 
duct in retrospect. But this, as we shall see, is not in origin 
independent of the others. 

Supremacy of the Divine Sanctions. — When we examine 
the four kinds of sanctions, we note at once that the social 
and the civil sanctions are not certain. Men often deceive 
each other successfully, and sometimes even outwit the law. 
These sanctions, therefore, do not suffice to establish an 
indubitable obligation. And the natural sanctions, though 
they are certain as far as they go, are altogether insufficient 
to determine how we shall direct our conduct. The rascal 
and the saint may equally observe the force of gravity and 
the boiling point of water. 

Furthermore, in comparison with the divine sanctions, 
the other three classes are really negligible. For the divine 
sanctions are absolutely certain ; and since God is omnipotent, 
we may be well assured that the rewards and punishments 
proceeding from his hand will far outweigh any earthly pain 
or pleasure. The divine sanctions, therefore, are in them- 
selves sufficient to impose absolute obligations. In all 
things we are obliged to do as God wills. 

The Will of God. — Now theologians have proved from 
natural evidences (altogether apart from any supernatural 
revelation) that God is infinitely benevolent, and that he has 



228 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

created men with no other purpose than to make them as 
happy as possible. 1 He must therefore prefer that men 
should be well disposed toward each other, acting harmoni- 
ously for the greatest good of all, rather than that each 
should work only for his own interest, to the neglect or detri- 
ment of the interests of all others. That is to say, it is 
God's will that we should in all things seek the greatest 
happiness of the greatest number concerned ; and hence we 
ought so to act. And because we are all created equal in 
God's sight, each man should count for one, and no man for 
more than one. 

(2) The Feeling of Obligation. — So much for the proof 
of our actual obligation. When we turn to consider how it is 
that men feel this obligation, the argument takes a somewhat 
different course. It is to be admitted that the vast majority 
of men, by reason of their ignorance or unreflectiveness, are, 
to a large extent, unaffected by the divine sanctions. Either 
they have not learned to expect a future judgment, or they 
do not consistently bear in mind the awful alternative that 
awaits them. They are often far more strongly moved by 
their immediate hopes and fears than by all that heaven or 
hell can hold in store for them. And yet they are not with- 
out feelings of moral obligation. Hence, in explaining these 
feelings, we must take into account the operation of all four 
classes of sanctions. 

General Agreement of the Sanctions. — We note, then, 
that all four classes are in general agreement. We cannot 
do much for our fellow men by disregarding the natural laws 
upon which our health and efficiency rest. And, though men 
are often deceived as to their interests, and though they are 
also often deceived as to one another's intentions, still, in 
the long run, the man who is devoted to their welfare is 

1 Thus, while the utilitarians deny the existence of an original benevolence 
in man, they are ready to admit it in God. This part of their theory is 
obviously a mere logical tour de force. 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 229 

loved, and the man who disregards it is treated with hatred 
or indifference. Similarly, though the laws of the land some- 
times constrain men to immoral conduct, this is by no means 
the general rule. What is forbidden as crime is generally 
wrong, though not all that is wrong is forbidden. A state in 
which the laws were to any considerable extent opposed to the 
practice of morality could not long escape dissolution. 

Value of the Lower Sanctions. — Thus the divine sanctions 
may be in great measure replaced by the lower sanctions in 
the formation of our feelings of obligation ; although with- 
out the divine sanctions these feelings must naturally be 
less powerful and less trustworthy. The corrective experi- 
ences of our common earthly life suffice to impress us pretty 
forcibly with the consciousness, that if we wish to be happy, 
we must seek our happiness in connection with the happiness 
of our fellows. In producing this effect, the constant pres- 
sure of the social sanctions is doubtless the principal factor. 
The fear of the law does not, in itself, go far toward making 
a man good, though it is a valuable auxiliary. 

Obligation without Sanctions. — But the objection will be 
raised : How does this account for the fact that men may 
still be controlled by feelings of moral obligation, when, to 
all appearances, they are in no danger from any human re- 
sentment? The fact is that under such circumstances their 
feelings of obligation are often greatly weakened — espe- 
cially if they have no vivid sense of the reality and power of 
God — and consequently they often succumb to the tempta- 
tion to seek only their own selfish ends. When this weaken- 
ing does not occur, it is because, through habituation, the 
feelings of obligation have become independent of their original 
sanctions. The compelling impulse to do what is right be- 
cause it is necessary for happiness has become an impulse to 
do right without regard to any further consequences. The 
end has dropped out of mind, while the means remains as 
potently attractive as ever. 



230 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Always, however, the divine sanctions remain as the com- 
plete rational justification of morality to the reflective in- 
quirer who asks why, after all, he ought to consider the wel- 
fare of his fellow men, whenever he finds himself so strong or 
so clever as to be independent of their wishes. 

3. Approbation and Disapprobation 

The theory of approbation and disapprobation is quite 
as simple. 

The Obligation to Encourage Morality. — Even if action 
for the good of the greatest number were not profitable to 
the agent himself, it would still be most desirable from the 
standpoint of his fellows. To be sure, any particular fellow 
might prefer to be especially favored by everybody all the 
time ; but that everybody should be willing to do this is so 
exceedingly improbable as to be out of the question. All 
things considered, the happiness of each is best assured by the 
morality of all the rest. By encouraging morality in each of 
his fellows, therefore, each man is promoting the happiness 
of all. He is obliged, therefore (according to the foregoing 
account of obligation), to encourage morality in every man. 

The Obligation to Praise or Blame. — Now how can he 
do this ? The only means by which a man's conduct is con- 
trolled is the expectation of pleasure or pain — until, through 
association, other ends have become directly attractive. To 
influence a man to act rightly, one must, therefore, cause 
him to expect pleasure as a consequence of right action, and 
pain as a consequence of wrong action. This may be done 
to some extent by instructing him with regard to the conse- 
quences of his acts, especially with regard to their everlasting 
consequences. The most efficient means, however, is at 
once to reward the right act and to punish the wrong — not 
necessarily in the formal ways provided by the state, for 
these are not always practicable, but at least by expressions 
of praise and blame. For praise is grateful to men, by reason 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 231 

of the pleasant direction which it gives to the imagination ; 
and blame is for a similar reason unwelcome. We ought, 
therefore, to praise any conspicuous right conduct, and we 
ought to blame wrong conduct. Now to recognize that any 
conduct ought to be praised or blamed, is to approve or disap- 
prove of it. 

Importance of the Intention. — With this explanation, 
various characteristics of moral approbation and disappro- 
bation are easily understood. Since the object of praise is 
to encourage, and of blame to discourage, conduct similar 
to that which is praised or blamed, it is seldom advantageous 
to praise or blame unintentional acts. We therefore — if 
we are reflective men — do not feel that such acts ought to 
be praised or blamed ; that is to say, we do not approve or 
disapprove of them. It is the intention that we judge. On 
the other hand, the feelings which prompt men to action 
(the motive) matters not at all, provided the intention is the 
same. All motives, from reverence to loathing, are natural ; 
and all have their place, large or small, in the economy of 
human life. In themselves they are neither good nor bad. 
But any motive becomes good or bad according as it gives 
force to a good or evil intention. 1 

Particular Selfish Interests Irrelevant. — We see, too, 
why our approval or disapproval is unaffected by the way in 
which the particular acts benefit or injure ourselves. For 
though (say) a particular right act may hurt me, it is still to 
my advantage to encourage that sort of conduct in the 
community. 

Self-approval and Disapproval. — We approve and dis- 
approve of our own acts, as well as of those of other men. 
For when we act rightly, we can see that other men ought 
to praise our conduct, and when we act wrongly, we can see 
that they ought to blame our conduct — even though, as a 
matter of fact, they do not do so. 

i Cf. p. 40. 



232 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The Moral Sense. — Finally, the feelings of approbation 
and disapprobation, like the feeling of obligation, may be- 
come wholly detached from all thought of the self-interest 
upon which they are originally founded. We then approve, 
or disapprove, simply and spontaneously, all conduct which 
we see to be directed in accordance with, or contrary to, the 
general welfare. We have developed a moral sense. 

V. Concluding Remarks 

Hedonism in the Three Schools. — Such, in outline, 
are the three classical English systems of ethics. All three 
systems, as we remarked at the outset, take for granted a 
hedonistic theory of values in general : that pleasure is the 
only ultimate good, and pain the only ultimate evil. For 
this very reason it is plain that hedonism (in this sense) has 
no particular connection with any one of the three. It is 
necessary to emphasize this fact, because during the nine- 
teenth century hedonism came to be peculiarly associated 
with the derivative theory; so much so, indeed, that the 
terms ' utilitarianism ' and ' hedonism ' are often used as 
precise equivalents. The consequence is that nineteenth- 
century critics and historians, when they noted the signs of 
hedonism in the old intuitionalists and moral-sense writers, 
set this down to inconsistency or to mere carelessness of 
language. 

What is really peculiar to the utilitarians is not hedonism 
in the sense of a general theory of values, but their peculiar 
psychological hedonism : the theory that all desire is origi- 
nally for pleasure, and all aversion originally for pain, and that 
all new objects of desire and aversion are related to the old 
as means to end or cause to effect. This theory is earnestly 
repudiated by the opponents of utilitarianism. 

Resemblance between Intuitionalism and Utilitarianism. 
— When we compare the three systems with each other, it 
is at once evident that intuitionalism and utilitarianism, 



CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 233 

despite the extreme opposition between them, bear a strong 
family resemblance to each other. Both are neatly worked- 
out logical schemes, based upon a minimum of direct evi- 
dence. The moral-sense theory, on the other hand, is thor- 
oughly empirical in its temper and procedure, departing as 
little as possible from the observation of fact. The contrast 
may be partly explained by the fact that several influential 
members of the two first-mentioned schools were theologians, 
while the moral-sense school was led by men whose interests 
were essentially scientific. It may be noted that while the ex- 
istence of God is an important presupposition of intuition- 
alism, and is absolutely essential to the utilitarian scheme, it 
plays no part in the moral-sense theory. 

Social Evolution Overlooked. — The great weakness of 
all three systems, from our present point of view, lies in the 
universal neglect of the phenomena of social evolution. That 
moral standards had suffered extensive changes was ad- 
mitted by some, denied by others. But, even when ad- 
mitted, it was not regarded from an evolutionary standpoint. 
Even the utilitarians, who professed to give an account of 
the development of the moral sense, limited this account to 
the individual consciousness, and paid no attention to the 
means by which sentiments are transmitted from generation 
to generation and are progressively modified in the process. 
On the whole, we may say of the ethical theories of the eigh- 
teenth century that they are individualistic and mechanical. 



REFERENCES 

Sblby-Bigge, L. A., British Moralists: being Selections from Writers 
principally of the Eighteenth Century. These selections are 
sufficient for the needs of elementary students ; but Hume and 
Reid are not represented. 

Hume, D., Treatise of Human Nature, Book III; Enquiry concern- 
ing the Principles of Morals; A Dialogue. 



234 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Reid, T., Essays on the Active Powers of Man, Essay III, especially 

Part III; Essay V. 
Stephen, L., English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, Ch. IX. 
Sidgwick, H., Methods of Ethics, Book III, Ch. XIII. 
Seth, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, Ch. II. 
Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. III. 
Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, Ch. XVI, 3, 4. 



CHAPTER XII 

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AND GERMAN 
INFLUENCE 

I. The New Utilitarianism 

During the nineteenth century all three lines of the clas- 
sical English thought persisted ; but utilitarianism came to 
possess an overshadowing importance. At the same time, 
however, it underwent certain decided modifications in its 
structure and temper; so that its new phase calls for a 
brief separate treatment. 

Change of Emphasis. — Utilitarianism had lost its theo- 
logical stamp. It was a theory of psychologists and of po- 
litical reformers. Some of its most important adherents, 
including the most distinguished of all, — John Stuart Mill, 
— did not even believe in the existence of an omnipotent 
deity. The consequence was that less and less emphasis 
came to be placed upon the supernatural sanctions of mo- 
rality, the rewards and punishments of a future world, and 
more upon the empirically observed sanctions. 

Obligation. — But this meant that the old notion of ob- 
ligation had to be revised ; for without the assumption of 
an overruling Providence to make all things straight, the 
universal necessity of a given sort of conduct, at all times, 
in order to be happy, could not be proved. Instead of being 
an external necessity, therefore, obligation came to be re- 
garded only as an internal sense of compulsion — the feeling 
that one cannot be satisfied to act except in a certain way. 
Thus it was admitted that right conduct might call for real 
and permanent self-sacrifice ; and utilitarianism acquired a 
tone of sadness, if not of pessimism. 

235 



236 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The Utilitarian Standard. — What is the standard of 
morality? There is no one standard. Every man of 
formed character has some standard, however crude, to 
which he feels himself bound. But what the standard is 
depends upon the circumstances of his upbringing. The 
utilitarian standard — the greatest happiness of the greatest 
number — is one which has been consciously accepted by 
many men, and half consciously by many more. When 
other standards of right and wrong are examined, it is gen- 
erally (perhaps always) to be found that a regard for the 
general happiness underlies them ; though it may be a mis- 
taken regard, or a regard limited to the members of a re- 
stricted society. The utilitarian standard may therefore 
fairly be regarded as in some sort the logical outcome of all 
others : that to which men of insight and wide intelligence 
must naturally turn. 

Theory of Sanctions. — What are the sanctions of mo- 
rality, the sources of the sense of compulsion ? These are of 
many kinds ; but they may be divided into two main classes, 
according as they depend, or do not depend, on the expected 
attitude of other persons toward the conduct in question. 
In the first class belong the social and civil sanctions of the 
old utilitarians, as well as the divine sanctions (for all who 
believe in a God). In the second class belongs the natural 
sympathy of men for their associates or for men in general, 
by reason of which they are gratified at one another's hap- 
piness and distressed at one another's pain ; and here also 
belongs the love of virtue for its own sake, which habit 
builds up in us. All these sanctions may attach to the utili- 
tarian standard ; and, indeed, it is peculiarly adapted to 
gain their support. For conduct which is intended to ad- 
vance the general happiness will, unless it be misunderstood, 
win the good will of all except some few who may find their 
selfish interests threatened by it ; and it is only rarely that 
such conduct can fall under the disapproval of the law — 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 237 

especially under modern democratic conditions. The sym- 
pathetic sanction is, of course, in favor of the utilitarian 
standard; and the simplicity, clearness, and universal ap- 
plicability of this standard make its incorporation into our 
1 second nature ' comparatively easy. 

' Original Altruism.' — It is to be noted that in the nine- 
teenth century utilitarians are no longer unanimous in in- 
sisting upon what was once the cardinal doctrine of the 
school : that all desire is originally for one's own happiness. 
This is now regarded as a debatable point, and some are 
inclined to the view that we have an original desire for the 
happiness of our fellow men ; that is to say, that the idea of 
another's possible pleasure is naturally attractive to us, and 
the idea of his possible future pain naturally repugnant to 
us, altogether apart from any thought of further conse- 
quences to ourselves. This is a rapprochement with the old 
sentimental school, and is probably to be ascribed to the 
continued influence of the writings of David Hume. 

Mill's Energism. — In this radical transformation of the 
old theory, John Stuart Mill is a leading figure. It should 
be mentioned here that Mill himself gave up the hedonistic 
theory of values that had characterized utilitarianism (in 
common with the other eighteenth-century systems) in 
favor of a crude energism, which he abstracted from Plato 
and Aristotle. He continues to use the general language of 
hedonism. The final good, he says, is happiness ; and hap- 
piness consists of pleasure with the absence of pain. But he 
explains that by ' pleasure ' or ' pain ' he means, not the 
elementary affection of pleasantness or unpleasantness, but 
the total experience in which the affection is felt. For ex- 
ample, if playing tennis is pleasant to him, he does not speak 
of it as a cause of pleasure but as a pleasure — not as a source 
of happiness, but as a part of happiness. Furthermore, he 
declares that pleasures differ in quality, and that the quality 
affects their value, which is not dependent merely upon the 



238 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

amount. " Better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool 
satisfied." How, then, is the comparative value of two 
kinds of pleasure to be determined? By the preferences of 
those who have experienced both. The fool knows, for the 
most part, only physical pleasures. Socrates knows these ; 
and he also knows intellectual and moral pleasure which he 
greatly prefers. If the vast majority of men of a similarly 
broad experience agree with him, we are warranted in rating 
intellectual and moral pleasures higher than physical. 

All this has been generally felt to be a compromise with 
the old enemy, and other utilitarians have lent it but little 
support. On the other hand, the essential feature of the 
ancient energism — the notion of a harmonious functioning 
of the whole organism — is not appreciated by Mill. So that 
as we look back upon his system it is apt to strike us as a very 
promising — failure. There is another reason for this ill 
impression. Measured by our present standards of what 
explanation ought to be, the determination of values by a 
majority vote, even of a select electorate, seems very weak. 
But Mill, like the old utilitarians, has little conception of 
the method or significance of social evolution; and so he ac- 
cepts his majority as an ultimate fact. Since his time, neo- 
Hegelianism, on the one hand, and Darwinism, on the other, 
have made social-evolutionary theory the central field of 
interest for ethics. 

II. Kant 

In the latter part of the eighteenth century, the center 
of ethical speculation shifted from England to Germany. 
With German ethics we shall not concern ourselves except 
in so far as their influence on later English and American 
thought has made them of peculiar importance to us. Accord- 
ingly, we shall confine our attention to Kant, Fichte, and 
Hegel. 

Kant's Undertaking. — Kant's work in ethics is in origin 



GERMAN INFLUENCE 239 

an attempt to rehabilitate intuitionalism, and to demonstrate 
its reasonableness as against the moral-sense theory and 
utilitarianism. He tries, in the first place, to make plausible 
the doctrine that we have a consciousness of a universal 
moral law, 1 which is not derived from experience ; and, in 
the second place, to show precisely what the moral law con- 
tains and what its acceptance as authoritative logically im- 
plies. In this latter part of his undertaking, he comes to 
results which issue in the inauguration of a new self-realiza- 
tion theory. 

The Moral Motive. — In Kant's view the moral life con- 
sists of an incessant struggle between reason and the inclina- 
tions that spring from the sense of pleasure and pain. What- 
ever reason freely determines itself to do is right, and that 
alone. Whatever inclination effects is at best indifferent, 
and is wrong if it contradicts reason. The only moral 
motive is reason's reverence for itself and for its own com- 
mands. Even personal affection is no substitute. To serve 
your friends because you love them is not virtuous. It is 
virtuous only to serve them when and because you ought. 

The Categorical Imperative. — The commands of reason 
— the moral law — take on an indefinite number of partic- 
ular forms according to the conditions to which they are 
applied ; but they all spring from a single principle which 
is entirely independent of all conditions, and which may 
therefore be called the ' categorical imperative.' This 
general principle is simply : Revere reason. This may seem 

1 We have tried to keep this account of the ethics of German idealism as 
free as possible from any reference to the underlying philosophical theories. 
It may be well, however, for us to observe here that according to Kant the 
consciousness of a moral obligation is not knowledge in the strict sense of the 
term, and is thus not analogous to mathematical knowledge. Our knowl- 
edge, he declares, can never extend beyond the limits of possible experience ; 
and whatever can be given in experience is conditioned. A moral obligation, 
i.e. an unconditional obligation, cannot, therefore, be known. It can only 
be accepted. Moral obligation belongs to reason, not in its theoretical 
activity, but in its practical activity. 



240 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

to be an empty tautology, as if it ran, ' Revere the command 
to revere reason ' ; or, ' Revere the command to revere the 
command to revere . . . ,' ad indefinitum; and many 
critics so regard it. But Kant, observing that the commands 
of reason are always universal, while the solicitations of 
sense are always particular, expands the statement of the 
law as follows : Act always so that you can at the same time 
will that the maxim, by which you act, may be a universal law. 
In other words, act always on principles that are really uni- 
versal ; and do not make an exception of the case in hand 
on account of the particular appeal to your inclinations 
which it makes. Ought I, for example, to lie to get myself 
out of trouble? Can I wish that everybody would do like- 
wise? If they tried to, all faith in men's word would soon 
be gone, and so lying would be impracticable. Such a wish, 
therefore, contradicts itself ; and hence my excuse for lying 
is invalid. This, says Kant, is precisely the test which all 
good men are forever applying : " What if everybody did 
the same ? " 

Virtue and Pleasure. — Kant's ethics is exceedingly aus- 
tere, as austere in its way as that of the stoics. In one re- 
spect, however, his doctrine is milder than theirs. He does 
not, like them, maintain that virtue is the only good, and 
that the addition of all other so-called goods cannot swell 
its value. He does hold that virtue is the only uncondi- 
tional good, and that pleasure is only good when it is the 
pleasure of the good man. But he admits that the virtu- 
ous man who is enjoying every pleasure is better off than 
the virtuous man who drags out an existence of privation 
and pain. For man is not simply a rational being, but a 
sensuous being as well ; and though the demands of his 
sensuous nature should be subordinated, they cannot be 
altogether silenced. Nevertheless the fact that this eminent 
thinker ascribed to morality a value independent of pleasure 
and pain impressed powerfully many English readers who 



GERMAN INFLUENCE 241 

had been brought up on the unsatisfactory hedonism that 
prevailed in their own country. 1 

The Future Life. — Kant connects morality with the 
belief in immortality and in future reward and punishment 
in a manner analogous to that of the English intuitionalists. 2 
His argument is substantially as follows (though involved 
in many complications). There can be no obligation where 
there is not liberty to comply. 3 The moral law commands 
us to be perfect ; therefore it must be possible for us to be 
perfect. But the universal experience of mankind shows 
that we cannot be perfect. Any man who claimed to be so 
would at once be branded as a fool or a liar. How can this 
contradiction be resolved? It can be resolved only if it is 
possible for us, despite the weakness of our sensuous nature, 
to become perfect through an everlasting process of approxima- 
tion. But for this we must be immortal. And since the 
process of our perfecting must go on in time, and must take 
place under natural conditions, the carrying-out of the proc- 
ess can only be assured if there exists a Moral Governor of 
the universe. Finally, although the moral law is unaffected 
by human inclinations, still we cannot think it right that, 
in the long run, the good man should suffer and the bad man 

1 Thus Carlyle exclaims over Schiller's Kantian essays : "Whoever reads 
these treatises of Schiller with attention will perceive that they depend on 
principles of an immensely higher and more complex character than our 
'Essays on Taste,' and our 'Inquiries concerning the Freedom of the Will.' 
The laws of criticism, which it is their purpose to establish, are derived from 
the inmost nature of man ; the scheme of morality, which they inculcate, 
soars into a brighter region, very far beyond the ken of our 'Utilities' and 
'Reflex-senses.' They do not teach us 'to judge of poetry and art as we 
judge of dinner,' merely by observing the impressions it produced in us ; 
and they do derive the duties and chief end of man from other grounds than 
the philosophy of Profit and Loss" (Life of Schiller, Part III). 

2 There is a difference due to the fact that he holds that the existence of 
God and the immortality of the soul life outside the field of possible knowl- 
edge. He does, however, maintain that the belief in God and in immortality 
is implied in the acceptance of any moral obligation. 

3 Cf. p. 55. 

R 



242 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

prosper. And hence we must expect the inequalities of 
the present life to disappear in the future. 

III. FlCHTE 

The Everlasting Struggle. — Fichte, like Kant, looks upon 
the moral life as an everlasting struggle with sensuous in- 
clination, in which we gradually approach an indefinitely 
distant ideal — the completed self (das absolute Ich). In- 
deed, he goes so far as to claim that that is the only value 
pleasure and pain have, the value of something to struggle 
against. To live rightly is to keep up the struggle. Every 
accomplishment institutes a new challenge to further en- 
deavor. To live wrongly is to give up the struggle, to con- 
sent to be comfortable — in a word, to be lazy. All vice is, 
at bottom, laziness. On the other hand, a perfect moral 
being, that had no longer to struggle, would for that very 
reason cease to be. Fichte, therefore, does not believe in 
the existence of a God. God is, for him, an ideal eternally 
in the making, not a present entity. 

The Vocation. — Fichte emphasizes, as Kant does not, the 
fact that man's moral life, in which his only true good con- 
sists, is essentially a social life — the fulfilling of a vocation, 
to which his actual relations with the society in which he 
lives call him. He is one of the first of modern philosophers 
to appreciate the ethical significance of marriage and the 
family: to realize that marriage is not a mere device for 
perpetuating the race and providing the state with citi- 
zens, but an all-important condition of ethical development 
and activity. And his further studies made him see that 
the like is true of the state : that the state is not merely an 
organization to provide for the common defense and to sup- 
press internal disorder, but the sphere of tremendously 
important human activities. (Fichte was himself a patriot, 
one of the foremost spirits in the rehabilitation of Germany 
after the conquest by Napoleon.) Moreover, the state, too, 



GERMAN INFLUENCE 243 

has its vocation in forwarding the progress of humanity 
as a whole. For the ultimate ideal toward which all history 
moves — Fichte 's God-in-the-making — is a moral order 
which embraces all humanity in one common life. 

Influence in England. — The moral philosophy of Kant 
and Fichte influenced English thought less through the writ- 
ings of professional ethicists than through the essays of such 
popular leaders as Thomas Carlyle, who found in the German 
rigorism an inspiration for their preaching. The traditional 
English hedonism, which found the good of man to consist 
in bits of pleasure no different qualitatively from those which 
the hog enjoys in his sty, seemed to them by contrast a 
1 swine philosophy.' 

IV. Hegel 

Relation to Fichte. — But it was with the invasion of 
England and America by the Hegelian philosophy (which 
took place in the last quarter of the nineteenth century) 
that hedonism was first seriously weakened in its hold 
on English ethical thought. Hegel's system is a genial 
toning-down of Fichte's, under the influence of Plato and, 
especially, of Aristotle. Hegel, too, finds man's true good 
in a self-development which consists in a larger and larger 
entering into the life of society — the life of the family, of 
competitive industry, and of the state, and ultimately of 
the society of states which constitutes humanity. The dif- 
ference between right and wrong cannot be reduced to any 
intuitively known formulae, or felt by an inborn moral sense. 
It is the difference between performing one's part and not 
performing it, amid the actual social conditions and institu- 
tions that exist. What that part is can only be learned from 
society itself, by becoming in the fullest sense of the term 
a citizen. 

Moral Development. — Hegel's great difference from Fichte 
is that he does not conceive of the process of development as 



244 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

essentially a struggle, though he is free to admit that strug- 
gle is constantly involved in it. For that against which we 
struggle is nothing alien or hostile to us. It is the narrow- 
ness of our own undeveloped nature. And in the process 
of development we do not set our old self aside — we do not 
even cease to be an animal in becoming a man — we pre- 
serve the old nature as a part, though only a part, of the new. 
Pleasure and pain, for example, are not to be contemned. 
They are for the lower life of feeling what the appreciation 
of good and evil is for the higher life of reason ; and the 
higher life does not put an end to the lower. We often have 
to disregard particular pleasures and pains for the sake of 
more concrete interests ; in fact no moral development can 
take place without many such a clash. And in that case 
the suppressed feelings appear to us as enemies. But we 
still continue regularly to find pleasure in good things and 
pain in evil things. 

The Life of Humanity. — Hegel has a more positive view, 
too, of the social life in which the goods of humanity consist. 
For Fichte, morality was a struggle for the struggle's sake. 
For Hegel, it is the entering into the great inheritance of 
civilization — art, religion, and philosophy. Hegel, like 
Aristotle, finds man's supreme happiness in the contemplation 
of eternal truth. Only he does not think of this as a personal 
matter. It belongs to the life of humanity, in which the 
individual has but a passing share. It is significant that 
whereas Fichte speaks of his God (the perfect moral order) 
as an ideal whose existence would be a self-contradiction, 
Hegel thinks of his God (the developing reason of humanity) 
as existing eternally, though at any one time exhibiting him- 
self in but one stage of his continual unfolding. 

The ' Nee-Hegelians.' — This moral theory, with the 
larger metaphysical system in which it was contained, was 
carried over into the English-speaking world by a band of 
veritable apostles — men who were burningly convinced of 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 245 

the essential truth of its doctrines, and filled with pity or 
contempt for all who could continue to think along the tra- 
ditional English lines. The success of their endeavors was 
most rapid. By the end of the century almost all the prin- 
cipal chairs of philosophy in Great Britain and America 
were filled by Hegelians. At the present time, though a 
strong tide of opposition to Hegelianism has arisen, the 
ablest critics recognize that there is much in the system, per- 
haps especially in its ethical doctrines, that is of permanent 
importance for science. 

V. The English Controversies 
Subject of the Following Chapter. — In the ethical con- 
troversies of the last quarter of the century, the two chief 
points at issue were (1) the significance for ethics of the Dar- 
winian theory of evolution (which is discussed in Chapter 
XVII) and (2) the hedonism which the utilitarian school 
still maintained as they received it from their eighteenth- 
century forbears, and which the Hegelians contemptuously 
repudiated. In the long controversy which raged over this 
latter point, a multitude of considerations were presented 
on both sides, in part repeated from ancient writers, in part 
new. The following chapter is intended to afford a general 
survey of the chief arguments. 

Its Importance. — Such a survey cannot now claim the 
same interest that might have belonged to it fifteen or twenty 
years ago. Hedonism in all its forms is dead — for the pres- 
ent; though past experience may lead us to expect for it 
many another rebirth. But even if it were dead for good and 
all, it would still deserve our careful attention, for the reason 
that the ethical science of to-day never could have been 
what it is if it had not been for hedonism ; and many of its 
chief doctrines can hardly be understood save in contrast 
to the hedonistic formulae which they have replaced. A 
thorough discussion of hedonism is therefore of prime im- 



246 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

portance as an introduction to the direct presentation of 
theory which occupies the last part of this volume. 

REFERENCES 

Kant, I., Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals; 
Critique of Practical Reason; both translated in Abbott's Kant's 
Theory of Ethics. The selections contained in Watson's Philos- 
ophy of Kant are a sufficient reference for beginners. 

Fichte, J. G., Vocation of Man (in Popular Works of Johann Gottlieb 
Fichte, translated by Wm. Smith, Vol. I), Part III, especially 
pp. 447 ff. 

Hegel, G. W. F., Philosophy of Right; best studied by the beginner 
in G. Morris's exposition, Hegel's Philosophy of the State and 
of History. 

Mill, J. S., Utilitarianism. 

Sidgwick, H., Methods of Ethics. 

Spencer, H., Data of Ethics (Part I of Principles of Ethics). 

Stephen, L., Science of Ethics. 

Huxley, T. H., Evolution and Ethics, first two essays. 

Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics. The essential doctrines are 
best studied by the beginner in Muirhead's excellent text-book, 
Elements of Ethics, which is entirely in Green's spirit. 

Bradley, F., Ethical Studies. 

Sorley, W. R., The Ethics of Naturalism; and Recent Tendencies in 
Ethics. 

Pringle-Pattison, A. Seth, Man's Place in the Cosmos. 

Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, Chs. XVI, 1, 2, XVII, 1, 2. 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 
I. The Kinds of Hedonism 

In an earlier connection we have briefly explained the 
various senses in which the term ' hedonism ' (or its equiv- 
alent, ' the pleasure-theory ') is used. Here it may be 
convenient to repeat this explanation more at length. 1 

(1) Theory of Values. — As we well know, one of the 
primary problems of ethics is to determine what the dis- 
tinction between good and evil means ; where ' good ' and 
' evil ' are understood to be applicable to any sort of thing 
or circumstance that can interest us in any way. An answer 
to this problem is a general theory of values. Such a theory 
must be applicable in every particular field where values of 



1 The following outline may assist the student in threading his way 



through a tangled mass of distinctions : 
A general theory of values 



Theories as to the objects 
of desire and aversion 



Hedonism 



good = pleasant, evil = painful. 
The selfish theory : all desire is 

really for pleasure, all aversion 

for pain. 
The theory of original selfishness. 



Ethical hedonism : theories 
of moral values 



Egoistic hedonism : right conduct 
means conduct that is most con- 
ducive to the pleasure of the 
agent. 
Universalistic hedonism : right 
conduct means conduct that is 
most conducive to the pleasure 
of all concerned. 

The student should observe that in the discussion which begins on p. 252 
the two theories of desire and aversion are first considered. 

247 



248 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

any sort are recognized. It must hold equally of the vir- 
tuous and the vicious, the well-bred and the ill-bred, the 
beautiful and the ugly, the cheap and the dear, and so forth 
and so on. 

One such general theory of values is hedonism. Put into 
few words it is the theory that ' good ' and ' pleasant/ 
' evil ' and ' unpleasant ' are the same. Set forth in a formal, 
systematic fashion, it embraces the following points. 

1. A thing may conceivably be good or evil either in itself 
or as a cause of something else that is good or evil. We are 
familiar with things that are good or evil in the latter way. 
Corn is good to nourish our bodies ; weeds are evil because 
they destroy the corn, or necessitate labor. But if nothing 
were good or evil in itself, nothing could be good or evil as 
a cause. There must, therefore, be an ultimate good and 
evil. 

2. The ultimate good is pleasure; the ultimate evil is 
pain. Pleasure and pain are simple (unanalyzable) feelings, 
which we cannot define or describe, but with which we are 
all perfectly familiar. Every feeling of pleasure is good, 
every feeling of pain is evil, in itself, to him who feels it, 
independently of every other fact in the universe. Pleasure, 
with the absence of pain, is called c happiness ' ; pain, with 
the absence of pleasure, is called ' misery.' 

3. Pleasures are all alike in quality. They differ from 
each other only quantitatively (i.e. in intensity and dura- 
tion) and in ' purity ' (i.e. in freedom from admixture with 
pain). The like is true of pains. Possible pleasures and 
pains differ also in their degree of probability. 

4. The amount of a pleasure or pain is the product of its 
duration and its average intensity. Pleasures and pains 
may be added to each other algebraically, the pains counting 
as negative pleasures. A sum of pleasures and pains is 
good or evil according as pleasure or pain predominates. 

5. Everything that tends to produce pleasure is so far 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 249 

good ; everything that tends to produce pain is so far evil ; 
that is, good or evil to him who may experience the pleasure 
or pain. It is good or evil, on the whole, according as it 
tends to produce more pleasure or more pain. 

When it is thus set forth in detail, the hedonistic theory 
of values shows itself to be not quite so simple as might at 
first be supposed. Still it is at least as simple as any rival 
theory, and this has been a strong point in its favor. For, 
other things being equal, scientific men are always disposed 
to prefer the simpler of two alternative modes of explanation. 

When we look to see the evidence that is offered for this 
theory, we frequently find none at all. It is advanced as if it 
were self-evident, or as if a slight examination of our habit- 
ual use of terms were sufficient to prove it ; and those who 
deny it are regarded as if they were the victims of a stupid 
prejudice. Sometimes, however, a proof is given ; and then 
it is almost always based on some theory of desire ; that is 
to say, more precisely, some theory with regard to the sorts 
of objects which excite desire and aversion in men and other 
animate beings. Two such theories must now be distin- 
guished. 

(2) Theories of Desire. — A theory of values (such as we 
have been considering) is a theory as to what ought to be 
desired. We have now to deal with theories as to what men 
actually do desire. This is, of course, a very different ques- 
tion, since we often desire things that turn out to be unde- 
sirable ; and a theory of desire must explain this phenom- 
enon just as well as it explains desires for things that are 
actually good. 

The Selfish Theory. — The theory of desire most widely 
held by hedonists in ancient times was this : that in all 
desire the ultimate object is the agent's own pleasure, in all 
aversion the ultimate object is his pain ; and that whatever 
else may be desired is viewed as a means of getting pleasure 
and avoiding pain — whatever else is avoided is viewed as 



250 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

an obstacle to pleasure or as a source of pain. When we 
desire what turns out to be unpleasant, or are averse to a 
real source of pleasure, that is due to ignorance. 

This theory is called ' psychological hedonism/ l the 
1 selfish theory/ or the ' theory of universal selfishness. 7 

It is easy to see why, if the selfish theory be true, the 
hedonistic theory of values follows from it. If pleasure is 
the only object that can ever be desired for its own sake, it 
is folly to say that anything else ought to be so desired. 
There is no sense in quarreling with a universal law of nature. 
One might as well say that 2 + 2 ought to be 5. And as 
for secondary goods — would it not be absurd to hold that 
something which we only desire through ignorance of its 
true effects is good? No moralist has ever defended such 
an absurdity. 

However, as we shall see, there are reasons for doubting 
the truth of the selfish theory, which do not directly affect 
the hedonistic theory of values ; and in modern times the 
former has been very generally displaced among hedonists 
by an alternative theory. 

Original Selfishness. — This second theory of desire is 
called the ' theory of original selfishness.' It may be out- 
lined as follows : 

It is not indeed true that in all our desires and aversions 
pleasure and pain are the ultimate object. We desire 
things and relations of many sorts without a thought as to 
their future effects upon our own feelings. For example, 
we can desire the happiness of a friend as an end in itself, 
beyond which our hopes do not reach. But this is an effect 
of habit. Originally we desire only our own pleasure and 
are averse only to our own pain. Then we desire, or are 
averse to, the things which we find bring us pleasure or pain. 
And, finally, with the repetition of the experience, the end 

1 This term is also used in a wider sense, so as to include the theory of 
original selfishness, mentioned below. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 251 

drops out of our minds, and what was formerly a means 
becomes an end in itself. We at first love our friends (i.e. 
desire their happiness) for what they are worth to us ; but 
with time we learn to love them whole-heartedly for them- 
selves. 1 

(3) Theories of Moral Values. — So much for the hedo- 
nistic theory of values and its psychological supports. We 
must now take account of hedonism as a theory of moral 
values — ' ethical hedonism/ as we may call it. This is 
the application to moral values in particular, of the hedo- 
nistic theory of values in general. Character and conduct, 
like everything else (it is said), are good or evil according to 
their tendencies to produce pleasure or pain. 

Egoistic and Universalistic Hedonism. — There are two 
particular forms which the hedonistic theory of moral values 
has taken. According to the one, when we speak of conduct 
as right or wrong, good or bad, we are referring to its value 
to the agent. According to the other, we are referring to its 
value to all who are affected by it. According to the former, 
the right thing for any man to do under any circumstances 
means the thing that will (barring unpredictable accidents) 
bring the greatest balance of pleasure to him. According 
to the latter, the right thing means that which will bring 
the greatest balance of pleasure to the group of persons con- 
cerned. The two forms of ethical hedonism are called 
1 egoistic hedonism ' and ' universalistic hedonism ' (or 
1 utilitarianism '), respectively. Roughly speaking, the for- 
mer is the ancient, the latter the modern form of the theory. 

The distinction between egoistic and universalistic hedon- 
ism is a little complicated by the fact that many hedonists 
(especially in modern times) have held that the conduct 
which is best for the agent and the conduct which is best 
for all concerned are always the same. (In fact, the attempted 
proof of this identity has been an important part of modern 

1 Cf. p. 225. 



252 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

hedonistic theories.) In such a case it is sometimes difficult 
to classify the thinker one way or the other. A few recent 
hedonists have held that conduct to be right must be best 
for the agent and also best for all concerned. They are thus 
egoistic and universalistic at once. 

We shall discuss the various hedonistic theories in the 
above order, except that we shall place first the two theories 
of desire : the selfish theory and the theory of original sel- 
fishness. 

II. The Selfish Theoky 

Its Plausibility. — The theory of universal selfishness is a 
typical piece of worldly wisdom — the sort of thing with 
which the disillusioned man of mature years damps the ar- 
dor of the romantic young enthusiast. In modern times this 
has been its chief significance, as few ethicists of any note 
have subscribed to it. However, it is exceedingly plausible, 
— it explains so many things so easily, — and the holder of 
it can flatter himself that he takes a cool and unprejudiced 
view of human nature, his own included. 

Not Immoral. — To hold such a theory is no sign of wicked- 
ness or hardness of heart. The worst that its opponents 
can say of it is that it indicates a certain narrowness of mind 
or an inability to introspect clearly. The psychological 
hedonists have often been men of conspicuous generosity — 
constant friends, devoted philanthropists, and sturdy patriots. 
They have almost never thought of denying that love and 
benevolence exist, or of declaring that all pretensions to 
them are mere hypocrisy. They simply declare that if 
all these so-called ' unselfish ' feelings be analyzed, they will 
be found to be nothing else than desire for various objects 
for the sake of one's own pleasure. The ultimate aim of all 
men is alike. They simply seek it in different directions. 

Difference of Tastes. — According to this theory, then, 
if we wish for money or food or dress or books or music or 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 253 

love or virtue, we are, perhaps unknown to ourselves, really 
desiring the pleasure (or escape from pain) which the par- 
ticular object brings. Men are, of course, of many different 
types. They inherit different tastes or capacities for pleas- 
ure ; and education magnifies these differences still further. 
It is to this that their differences of conduct are due. Each 
seeks his pleasure where he expects to find it. In fact, to 
desire a thing and to expect pleasure from it, to feel aversion 
for a thing and to expect pain from it, are psychologically 
identical. Sympathy is no exception. Grant that there 
are sympathetic pains and pleasures, which we feel at wit- 
nessing the experiences of others, especially those whom we 
love. We cannot get outside our own minds. The pains 
and pleasures which we feel are ours, not theirs ; and when 
we wish them to be happy, that is only because this will 
give us happiness. Benevolence simply indicates a capacity 
for deriving pleasure from a certain class of objects, and is 
at bottom no more disinterested than gluttony. The reason 
that the term ' selfishness ' has an evil sound to us is that 
it is commonly taken to denote either lack of sympathy or 
lack of the foresight that would show how one's own interests 
and those of other men are bound up together. But, strictly 
speaking, the broadest mind and the broadest heart only 
go to make up an enlightened selfishness; and that is all that 
moral goodness means. 

Proof of the Theory. — If the psychological hedonist is 
asked to prove his doctrine, he may simply appeal to the 
general experience of his questioner for confirmation; or 
he may put an imaginary test case as follows : If we consider 
anything whatever, which we are intensely desirous to have 
or to keep — fame, virtue, a place in heaven, or what you 
will — and then imagine that we are never to have the slight- 
est pleasure from it, does not our attitude toward it lapse 
into utter indifference? Nay more, suppose that not only 
is it to give us no pleasure, but it is to be a perpetual source 



254 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of agonizing pain ; does not a positive aversion to it at once 
arise ? Similarly of anything which we detest : imagine 
it to be a cause, not of pain, but of intense and unfailing 
pleasure, and can we then help longing for it ? If an affirma- 
tive answer is given to these questions, the psychological 
hedonist regards the truth of his theory as granted. 

Objections. — We shall have something to say with regard 
to this test later. Here let us consider some objections to 
the theory. 

(1) Is there an Idea of Pleasure? — That we do at times 
desire our own pleasure is almost universally admitted, 
though in recent times some psychologists have denied it. 
Pleasure and pain, say these psychologists, are feelings (or 
affections), not sensations, and are not, like the latter, capa- 
ble of being represented in the mind by the faint copies 
which we call ' ideas.' What we call the idea of pleasure is, 
then, really a vague general notion of the various sorts of 
experience in which pleasure is felt. But if there is no idea 
of pleasure, pleasure as such cannot be desired. If this be 
correct, psychological hedonism is false indeed ; but there is 
no consensus of opinion upon the point. And, historically, 
the possibility of a desire for pleasure has not been seriously 
disputed. 

(2) Not Pleasure but Pleasant Objects Desired. — What 
the critics urge is that the desire for pleasure occupies in 
most men a comparatively small part of their lives. What 
men ordinarily desire is not pleasure as such, to be gotten 
no matter how, but things and activities and all sorts of con- 
crete experiences. The man who desires food desires food ; 
the man who desires a game of billiards desires a game of 
billiards ; the man who desires the conversion of the heathen 
desires the conversion of the heathen — not pleasure. The 
thought of pleasure may not enter into his mind at all. The 
reply of the psychological hedonist is, of course, that the 
idea of pleasure really is present, though not at the center of 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 255 

attention. The immediate object of desire is not pleasure, 
but the means by which pleasure is directly or indirectly to 
be had. But still it is pleasure that the man is consciously, 
if not self-consciously and attentively, seeking. And the 
fact that one man looks to one source of pleasure, another 
to another, is due (as was explained above) to the differences 
in their inherited and acquired tastes. 

(3) Ante Mortem Desires. — But, say the objectors, men 
often desire events from which they cannot possibly expect 
any pleasure. A favorite example is taken from the conduct 
of Epicurus himself in his last hours of life. Epicurus, it 
will be recalled, was confident that at death both pleasure 
and pain cease forever. And yet, when he was about to die, 
he took care to make provision for his wards, the orphans 
of his friend Metrodorus. What pleasure could he hope to 
gain from the future welfare of these children? None, to 
be sure. But (says the hedonist) in the moments of life that 
were left to him, was not the imagination of their happiness 
pleasant, and would not the prospect of their unhappiness 
have been painful ? — for we can have pleasure or pain even 
in a mere fiction. And was not the securing of this pleasure 
and the prevention of this pain a sufficient motive for his act ? 

(4) Desire for Pleasure Defeats Itself. — One favorite 
criticism is based upon the so-called ' hedonistic paradox/ 
The paradox, as alleged, is as follows : Men do sometimes 
desire particular objects only for the pleasure that they 
expect from them. Those who habitually do this we call 
' pleasure-seekers.' Now our observation of such men 
constantly shows them to be unhappy. And when we look 
for the reason we see that to desire anything merely for the 
sake of pleasure soon takes away our capacity for getting 
pleasure from that thing. To get pleasure from billiards one 
must really care for billiards as an end in itself, and not simply 
as a means for which some other means might with perfect 
indifference be substituted. The proposition that all desire 



256 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

is pleasure-seeking is, therefore, a manifest absurdity. 1 The 
reply of the psychological hedonist is simple. The melan- 
choly pleasure-seeker differs from other men simply in this : 
that he does not know himself, does not understand his own 
capacities for pleasure. He tries to get pleasure in ways 
in which he sees some other men getting it; or, without 
reckoning upon the deadening effects of custom, he tries 
to get pleasure as he himself has often gotten it in the past. 
Naturally, the chances are great that he is disappointed. 
Moreover, the notion that you must have a specific desire 
for something before it can give you pleasure is false. Pleas- 
ure does not arise only from the satisfaction of particular 
desires. It may arise — and so may pain, too, for that 
matter — from a totally unexpected source. The suddenly 
wafted scent of a bed of unseen roses is none the less grateful 
because unanticipated. A game of billiards, which I enter 
upon against my will, solely to avoid some greater evil, 
may turn out to be surprisingly pleasant. Before a thing 
has been found to be a source of pleasure, it is not desired. 
Afterwards it is desired for the sake of the expected pleasure. 
That is the whole story. 2 



1 The hedonistic paradox is often urged as an objection to other parts of 
the hedonistic program, and we shall touch upon it again. 

2 The paradox sometimes takes this form : To experience pleasure you must 
not attend to it. If you attend specifically to the pleasure itself (as distin- 
guished from its source), its intensity is weakened, and it is soon blotted out 
altogether. Sip a glass of your favorite wine ; and if your attention to the 
pleasure distracts you from the flavor, the pleasure vanishes. Hence the 
desire for pleasure, as distinct from the pleasant object, defeats itself. — The 
hedonist's reply is, first, that the facts are substantially as stated, and, 
secondly, that they do not militate against his theory. For what is de- 
scribed is not the natural effect of pleasure. It does not tend to monopolize 
the attention, but shares it with the source. It is the analytical attention of 
the psychologist that isolates the pleasure and so destroys it. And the only 
moral is : If you wish to be happy, do not introspect too much. The hedon- 
ist adds that, in his view, although pleasure is the ultimate object of all our 
desires, we seldom give it any high degree of attention ; so that the whole 
argument of his opponent is badly misplaced. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 257 

Why Disproof is Difficult. — Psychological hedonism is thus 
not so easy to refute as may at first sight be supposed. On 
a closer examination we can easily see why. It is a theory 
with regard to the contents of consciousness to which we 
are not attending — the field of inattention. For whenever 
we analyze the object of our desire and find no expected 
pleasure there, the easy answer always is : It is there, but 
you do not notice it, because your attention is elsewhere — 
on the means of getting it. Now it is practically impos- 
sible to disprove a statement like that, for how can we tell 
what may not be where we cannot distinctly see ? It trans- 
ports discussion to the night, " where all cats are gray," 
as the French proverb has it. 

Proof similarly Difficult. — But if it is hard to disprove, so 
also is it fatally hard to prove. If we cannot be sure that 
a given content does not lurk in the field of inattention, 
neither can we be sure that it always does lurk there. The 
imaginary test which we mentioned above is no real test 
at all, for it cannot be performed with any precision. We 
cannot in imagination subtract pleasure (or pain) from a 
given experience, and add pain (or pleasure), without chang- 
ing the content of the experience otherwise. When, for 
example, we are told to think away all pleasure, we do more : 
we blur out the pleasant details upon which our attachment 
rests. When we are told to add pain, we add not pain as 
such, but pains, i.e. particular more or less definite sources 
of annoyance. 

Uselessness of the Theory. — Now scientists have learned 
by a long experience that theories that cannot be brought 
to a test are seldom of any real service in explaining anything. 
The present theory is no exception. Every one admits that 

At the present time many psychologists hold that it is impossible to attend 
to any affection of either pleasure or pain : that it is only on the sensational 
side of consciousness that attention is possible. The old hedonists would 
probably have regarded this theory as perfectly compatible with their own. 



258 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

when things are (directly or indirectly) pleasant to us, we 
learn to like them, and that when they are unpleasant, we 
learn to dislike them. It makes this fact not a bit more 
simple to declare that on every occasion when we feel desire 
or aversion the idea of pleasure or pain is present in our 
minds, and that all our conscious activities are planned 
accordingly. Why should we make ourselves out to be so 
calculating? Why not say simply that the past pleasure or 
pain has modified our likes and dislikes, instead of lugging 
in the idea of a future pleasure or pain which introspection 
almost always fails to discover? 

While, therefore, the selfish theory cannot be regarded 
as definitely refuted, no one in our time is inclined to regard 
it with favor. It is not a promising working hypothesis. 

Idea of Pleasure vs. Pleasure in an Idea. — There is a 
further consideration which has told strongly against the self- 
ish theory, a consideration which we here put last because it 
is based on a psychological analysis of the processes of desire 
and aversion, which is widely, but not universally, accepted. 
Desire is undoubtedly a complex process; and one com- 
ponent of it seems to be a feeling of pleasure, attached to the 
thought of the desired object. Some psychologists (includ- 
ing many modern hedonists) have held that this is all that 
desire is : pleasure in the thought of a possible future condi- 
tion. Similarly, the complex process of aversion seems to 
contain a feeling of pain : some psychologists, again, going 
so far as to say that aversion is no more than pain at the 
thought of a possible future condition. 1 Now it should be 
observed that this pleasure or pain is not an idea referred 
to the future. It is not a possible contingency to which the 
man looks forward. It is an actual present feeling. It can- 
not, therefore, be regarded as a part of the desired or hated 
object; it is simply, as above said, a psychological element in 
the desire or aversion itself. Now the older hedonists, it is 

1 Cf. note, p. 225. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 259 

said, made just this mistake : they confused the idea of 
pleasure with pleasure in an idea. And because there can 
be no desire without pleasure or aversion without pain, they 
jumped to the conclusion that all desire is for pleasure and 
all aversion for pain. 

The criticism is shrewd ; very likely there is truth in it. 

III. The Theory of Original Selfishness 

Its Advantages. — The theory of original selfishness is, 
as we have said, the modern substitute for the foregoing. 
It has the advantage of not being openly in opposition to 
our ordinary self-observation. It makes a slighter demand 
upon our ' scientific credulity.' Not all desire is for pleas- 
ure, not all aversion is for pain, but only has been : surely 
that is a very little thing to believe ! And the theory has 
the further advantage of being in line with modes of explana- 
tion which have been found serviceable in the treatment of 
other problems of mind — the modes of explanation that are 
comprised under the general name of ' associationism.' 
Men who have held it could thus congratulate themselves 
that they were genuinely ' scientific. ' 

Empirical Evidence. — Besides, it is based on admitted 
facts. There is no doubt that we often do desire things first 
as means to further ends, and then (as these ends drop out 
of mind) for their own sake. The theory of original self- 
ishness asks us to generalize this observation, to conceive 
that all our various desires have thus originated in one simple 
original desire — the desire for happiness. And there is 
this further direct evidence, which is generally admitted. 
We all desire pleasure, and are averse to pain, for its own 
sake, without ever having to learn ; and our liking for partic- 
ular objects increases as they give us pleasure, and decreases 
as they give us pain. What more natural, therefore, than 
to suppose that it is desire for pleasure and aversion to pain 



260 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

that have been the fundamental agencies in shaping all our 
particular tastes ? 

No longer Popular. — And yet, with all these advantages 
in its favor, the theory of original selfishness is now almost 
as much out of fashion as the selfish theory. And again 
it is not so much any direct refutation that has counted 
against it, as the emergence of a more ' economical ' theory 
to account for the same facts : the theory that not desire 
for pleasure and aversion to pain are the agencies that form 
our tastes, but pleasure and pain themselves. 

Objection : Desire for Objects comes First. — As for 
the direct refutation, that has always taken the form of 
trying to show that desire for particular objects must neces- 
sarily arise in the young animal earlier than the desire for 
pleasure. It is said, for example, that the very first desire 
cannot be for pleasure, because the animal has not yet experi- 
enced pleasure, and so can have no idea of it. The babe at 
the breast, when first he begins to suck, can have no idea 
of the pleasure the milk will give him. Only later, as he re- 
vives the experience in his mind, can a desire for a repetition 
of the pleasure arise in him. But the argument is almost un- 
believably weak. If the babe has no expectation of pleas- 
ure, so neither has he any expectation of milk. His desire 
is not for any object at all. It is, for that reason, not what 
we properly term ' desire.' It is a blind, instinctive impulse, 
following with mechanical precision upon its peculiar stimuli. 
Now the hedonist is perfectly willing to admit that there are 
many such impulses, both instinctive and acquired by habit, 
which often move us to act. His theory has only to do 
with desire for an object; and he holds that the primitive 
object is pleasure. If the milk gave no pleasure (or relieved 
no pain), it would never become an object of desire. It is 
the pleasure that is desired first. 

A Simpler Theory. — The theory of original selfishness has 
been generally abandoned, not because it has been proved 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 261 

to be false, but because it has been found to be unnecessary. 
For what hinders us from supposing that all objects of desire 
are particular from the start? Our first cravings are object- 
less ; but as soon as we become aware of the objects of these 
cravings we desire them, not for the sake of the satisfaction, 
but because of the satisfaction. The actual pleasantness 
of the warm, sweet milk intensifies the sucking impulse and 
makes the infant pull the harder. And when the child has 
formed an idea of the milk, and the natural stimuli of suck- 
ing recur (the sensation of hunger, and the pressure of the 
nipple upon the lips), the idea of the milk will also arise, 
and by its pleasantness — its actually felt pleasantness — 
reenforce these stimuli. There is no need to assume an idea 
of pleasure, much less a distinct desire for pleasure. ' Pleas- 
ure facilitates, pain inhibits ' — that is the only principle 
we need. 

IV. The Hedonistic Theory of Values in General 
Relation to the Foregoing Theories. — All this, however, 
may be regarded as a mere preliminary to the main problem, 
the nature of value. And it may even be set down as an 
unnecessary preliminary. For one may hold almost any 
theory you please with regard to the objects of desire ; one 
may even hold that pleasure in the abstract — pleasure 
considered apart from any particular pleasant object or 
experience — never is desired, and that pain in the abstract 
is never avoided ; and still maintain that pleasure is the 
sole ultimate good, and pain the sole ultimate evil. 

For consider (it may be said) any object to which we 
ascribe great value ; and let us admit that in thus valuing 
it no desire of pleasure as such is, or has been, active in our 
minds. If, now, for any length of time, the object is repeat- 
edly found to give us no pleasure, its value gradually di- 
minishes ; and if it becomes a source of pain, its value event- 
ually sinks below zero. The values of things are, in fact, 



262 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

constantly changing in this way. Pleasure and pain are thus 
the essential factors in constituting values. The good is 
the directly or indirectly pleasant; the evil is the directly 
or indirectly painful. 

Objections : (l) The ' Swine Philosophy/ — The criti- 
cisms which have generally been urged against this view are 
quite as weak as the criticisms of the hedonistic theories 
of desire. For the most part they amount to a mere senti- 
mentalism — a feeling that man is of too noble a nature to 
be born for nothing better than pleasure, since it is within the 
reach of the lower animals. So hedonism has been called the 
' swine philosophy ' — as if that were a sufficient refutation. 
Of course, if swine are capable in any measure of enjoying 
the highest good, so much the better for them ; we as men 
are not worse off for that. But the epithet ignores the 
fact that hedonists are fully capable of recognizing the dis- 
tinction between ' higher ' and ' lower ' pleasures. This 
distinction, indeed, plays an important part in their maxims 
for the guidance of life. The lower pleasures are those 
which, though they may for the moment be very intense, 
are not durable, and, when intense, are bound to be mixed 
with, or soon followed by, considerable pains. Such are 
the pleasures that arise from the satisfaction of sensual 
appetites. The higher pleasures, while less passionate, 
are purer and more durable, and are followed by no reaction. 
Such are the pleasures of refined social intercourse, and it is 
these that the wise man estimates most highly; while the 
pleasures of swine and the pleasures of swinish men belong 
to the other class. 

(2) The Good must be Permanent. — Often it is objected 
that pleasure is transient, and that the supreme good must 
be something lasting that can permanently satisfy men's 
desires. But would not an unbroken succession of pleasures 
do this? After all, an unsatisfied desire is a pain, and in 
the hedonistic ideal this would not remain. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 263 

(3) Real Values are Objective. — Or, again, it is said that 
pleasure and pain are subjective, existing only as contents 
of an individual mind, and not directly cognizable by any 
one else ; while values are objective, existing as qualities of 
things or circumstances, open to general observation. When, 
for example, we look together at a painting, each of us feels 
little waves of pleasure, or it may be of pain, as his glance flits 
from one detail to another or widens to take in a view of the 
whole; and these feelings are absolutely private, shut up 
within his own soul. But the beauty of the painting (its 
(Esthetic value) is there for all to observe and appreciate. 
We set ourselves up as authorities to criticize it, and proceed 
to defend our criticisms, thereby treating the beauty as an 
objective fact, concerning which there may be difference of 
opinion but only one truth. The contrast between pleasure 
(and pain) and value is like that between the sensations of 
pressure, color, sound, etc., that enter a man's consciousness 
as he observes a physical object, and the physical object 
itself. The sensations have no existence save as the observer 
is conscious of them. The physical object is a part of our 
common world, to which all sound men have access. — The 
hedonist's answer to this objection is very simple. He points 
out that according to his own theory value is of two sorts, 
and that the objector confuses these. The one sort is ulti- 
mate value, which consists of pleasure and pain, and is, in- 
deed, subjective. But the other sort, relative value, which 
consists in the capacity to excite pleasure and pain, is ob- 
jective. No need to dispute this. We human beings are 
constructed, physically and mentally, on the same general 
pattern ; so that the object which is capable of pleasing one 
sound man is, in general, capable of pleasing others. To 
be sure, there are exceptions, due to individual differences 
between men, ranging all the way from slight variations of 
taste to positive abnormality. But this is also true of physi- 
cal qualities. Not all such qualities are observable by all 



264 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

men. There are the deaf and the blind and the victims of 
catarrh, to whom more or less of the world is hidden. Fur- 
thermore, when one cannot appreciate the value of a thing 
directly, he can often become aware of it indirectly from the 
behavior of other men — just as the blind man learns of the 
different colors. He finds that his fellows are pleased or 
pained by things which affect him not at all. And thus he 
realizes that there may be in things a real capacity to please 
or pain, to which he himself has not the capacity to respond. 
The values exist for others, though they do not exist for 
him. Of course, if no one could ever respond, the capacity 
to please or pain would not be real - — the value would not 
exist at all. 

(4) Common Good. — Much the same answer is given to 
the allied objection, that the hedonistic theory is individ- 
ualistic : that it treats each man as if he lived only for him- 
self, and takes no account of any common good, whether it 
appertain to the welfare of the family, the community, the 
state, or humanity as a whole. To be sure, the hedonist may 
speak of the happiness of a number of men; but that is 
simply an external putting-together of the happinesses of so 
many individual men. — Again the hedonist replies that 
the distinction between ultimate and relative value has been 
overlooked. It is on the side of relative value — the capac- 
ity to give pleasure and pain — that all common goods and 
common evils belong. Some things must be enjoyed ex- 
clusively if they are to be enjoyed at all. But there are 
other things that a number of men, even a great multitude, 
can enjoy without mutual hindrance. A man's portion of 
food, his best suit of clothes, his toothbrush, he cannot 
share without some loss to himself. But his comfortable 
home is not less his, because his wife and children enjoy it 
also ; indeed, were they removed, it would become a somber 
place for him. Good roads, a good water supply, good police 
protection are of value to every one in the community. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 265 

Good laws, good courts, a good army and navy spread their 
benefits nation-wide. The advances of science, the master- 
pieces of art, the encouragements and consolations of reli- 
gious faith may be unlimited in the possible scope of their 
contribution to human happiness. These are common 
goods, and hedonism recognizes them as such. 

(6) Kinds of Pleasures. — Sometimes it has been urged 
that there are qualitative (as well as quantitative) differences 
between one feeling of pleasure and another, and that these 
differences affect the value of the pleasure. Plato and 
Aristotle, as we have seen, are the authors of this view. 1 
Sometimes it is even said that some kinds of pleasure are bad ; 
but generally the objector is content with saying that the 
goodness of pleasure is not proportionate to its amount, but 
depends also upon the quality, or kind. It is admitted, then, 
that everything good is directly or indirectly pleasant, and, 
similarly, that all that is bad is unpleasant ; but it is denied 
that ultimate goodness and pleasure can be identical, because 
they are not proportional. The important thing (it is said) 
is the quality ; for a very little of one kind of pleasure may be 
worth more than a great deal of another kind. It is, then, 
essential to ethics to determine what kinds of behavior give 
rise to the higher kinds of pleasure, and what kinds impart 
only the lower. This is all very cogent if the initial observa- 
tions upon which it is founded are correct. Does pleasure 
vary in quality ? Hedonists have almost unanimously denied 
this ; and up to our own day it may be said to be an open 
question, with the balance of scientific opinion on the hedon- 
ists' side. What we might be tempted to regard as qualita- 
tive differences between different kinds of pleasure — as 
between the pleasure of poetry and the pleasure of brisk 
exercise — are explained as belonging, not to the feeling of 
pleasure itself, but to the complex of sensations or ideas that 
accompany it in consciousness. Of course, even if it should 

1 Cf. pp. 143, 145. 



266 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

be demonstrated that pleasure does vary in quality, the 
further question would still remain, whether different kinds of 
pleasure possess different grades of value. On the whole, it 
must be admitted that the hedonistic theory is still safe from 
attack in this direction. 

(6) Not Pleasure but the Pleasant Experience is Good. — 
Sometimes it is said that the hedonistic view is one-sided : 
that we ought to consider as the ultimate good and evil, not 
pleasure and pain as such, but ' pleasures ' and ' pains/ i.e. 
the total experiences in which pleasure and pain are felt — not 
the mere pleasantness of music, for example, but the music 
as heard and enjoyed. Such a view was held, in combina- 
tion with the foregoing, by Plato and Aristotle, and it has 
been very popular in modern times. Taken by itself, how- 
ever, it has not much controversial value. The hedonist 
can easily reply that the difference from his own view is 
merely verbal. We are, of course, so constituted that we 
cannot experience pleasure and pain except as elements in 
larger mental wholes. It is only as our senses or our imag- 
ination is stimulated in some way, that pleasure or pain can 
arise in us. They come as the accompaniments of tastes 
and shapes and sounds and fancies and expectations — we 
cannot isolate them. Let, therefore, any one who pleases 
attach the verbal tags, ' good ' and ' evil/ to the total experi- 
ences and not to the pleasure and pain. These still remain 
essential constituents of the ultimate good and evil — the 
constituents upon which its value, positive or negative, de- 
pends, and with which the value is directly proportional. 

The central point at issue between the hedonists and 
their critics is thus the proportionality of value and pleasure. 
Admit this, and the question of identity is not worth fighting 
over. 

(7) Are Pleasures and Values Proportional? — Now at 

this central point the controversy becomes more technical 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 267 

than ever — and not a whit more conclusive. We shall con- 
tent ourselves with noting one favorite line of attack. 

Can There be a Sum of Pleasures? — If pleasures and 
values are proportional, then, since values are capable of 
being added together, pleasures too must be capable of being 
added together. (This, indeed, the hedonists openly assert.) 
But can there be a sum of pleasures? If there cannot, the 
hedonistic theory is at once demolished. It might still be 
true that pleasure is essential to value, but pleasure and ulti- 
mate value would no longer be equivalent, but would belong 
to two separate orders of facts. 

Perhaps Not. — Now upon this vital question there is no 
general consensus of scientific opinion, though the balance 
is here probably somewhat against the hedonist. The ques- 
tion is really quite difficult and complicated. Of course, 
when we compare a number of pleasant experiences together, 
we may value one as much as we value two others taken to- 
gether ; so that if we had to choose between the one and the 
two, we should be uncertain which choice would be the wiser. 
But do we in such a case add together two quantities of 
pleasure and compare them with a third? A pleasure of a 
given intensity is not a whole that can be broken up into 
separate parts. One pleasure may be more intense than 
another, but can it be twice as intense ? x In order to add to- 
gether pleasures of different intensities and durations, we 
should have to reduce them to a common denomination ; 
let us say, by multiplying the intensity by the duration. Do 
we ever do such a thing — not necessarily with any high 
degree of precision, but ever so roughly or approximately? 
Hedonists insist that we constantly do just this. The child 
who prefers the stick of ' sucking-candy ' to the better tasting 

1 The same question has been asked with reference to the intensity of a 
sensation — say the sensation of warmth. One object may be warmer to 
the touch than another — a little warmer, or very much warmer. But can 
it be twice as warm? Or can one object be as warm as two others taken 
together? Psychologists are generally disposed to answer no. 



268 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

chocolate cream, because the former lasts longer, is multi- 
plying intensity by duration, is he not ? And is not a great 
part of the rational planning of our lives precisely similar ? 
The reply of the anti-hedonist is that we do nothing of the 
sort, for the simple reason that it cannot be done ; the sup- 
posed operation is a psychological impossibility. The value 
of the candy does, indeed, depend on the pleasantness of its 
taste, and it does also depend upon its durability. Candy 
that pleased us not at all, or that pleased us but for an in- 
stant, would be worth nothing, or almost nothing. But to 
try to make this out to be a case of addition or multiplication 
of pleasures is to obscure the true limits of mathematical 
procedure. 

The Dispute Inconclusive. — We leave it to the reader 
to form his own conclusion as to the merits of this dispute. 
But we venture this surmise : that no man was ever led by 
such considerations to change his attitude toward hedonism. 
The fact is that only very rarely in the history of the mental 
and social sciences has any important theory been overthrown 
by a frontal attack. In these sciences experiment has a 
narrow range of applicability. Men cannot repeat and con- 
trol their observations as they will. And hence disputations 
may rage on endlessly. It does not follow that the disputa- 
tions are idle. On the contrary, they are often most instruc- 
tive. But they are usually inconclusive upon the main points 
at issue. For the most part, in these sciences, theories are 
set aside, not because they have been proved to be false, but 
because they proved themselves, in their attempted applica- 
tion, to be unhelpful — unimportant if true. 

Futility of Hedonism. — Such is the case with hedonism. 
Suppose it true ; and then there are comparatively few cases 
in which we can even pretend to show, by a calculus of pleas- 
ures and pains, why one good thing is preferable to another. 
One can always, to be sure, repeat the general formula, that 
the better thing is better because it gives rise to a greater 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 269 

net sum of pleasures ; and one can generally point to partic- 
ular pleasant and painful experiences which each thing makes 
possible. But anything like an estimate of their compara- 
tive value, in terms of pleasure and pain, is seldom so much 
as conceivable. 

An Instructive Parallel. — Perhaps an illustration will 
help to make plain what we are asserting here, though at 
first sight the illustration may seem far-fetched. 

At the beginning of the eighteenth century a theory with 
regard to physical laws was advanced, which has had advo- 
cates down to our own day ; namely, that such laws are de- 
scriptions of the order in which our sensations come to us. 
The ' law of falling bodies/ for example, was held to be a 
description of the way in which certain visual (and other) 
sensations are accustomed to follow each other in our experi- 
ence ; and similarly of the law by which water expands in 
freezing, or the law by which the magnet attracts iron. The 
theory is plausible, because, of course, it is by means of our 
successive sensations that we observe the laws of nature. 
But it has this defect : that no one has ever succeeded in ex- 
pressing a single physical law in terms of sensations of any 
sort. Make the attempt with the law of falling bodies, and 
you will soon see why. Try to fill out the formula, " Such 
and such sensations are invariably followed by such and such 
others," substituting definite kinds and intensities and com- 
binations of sensations for each mere " such and such," 
and you cannot even begin. Physical terms, as distinguished 
from descriptions of sensations, must always be used. Or, 
better still, try to give a statement, in sensational terms, of 
the law of the indestructibility of matter, or of the law of 
the conservation of energy. The theory that physical laws 
describe the order of our sensations is, we repeat, plausible ; 
but it has not to its credit one single definite application. 
No one in dealing with a physical law has ever found this 
theory of the slightest use. It is unimportant if true. 



270 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The Analysis of Values. — The case is the same, or almost 
the same, with hedonism. The value of a piece of candy — 
which has no use beyond the immediate enjoyment of it — 
ought to be conceivable as a sum of pleasures if anything is. 
But is it ? As soon as one begins to be precise, as soon as a 
real analysis of the value begins, one finds oneself consider- 
ing, not amounts of pleasure, but valuable details : the tex- 
ture, the flavor, the contrast of the dry, bitter chocolate shell 
with the moist, sweet interior. And the value of the candy 
is not figured as a sum of increments of pleasure due to the 
various factors — so much to the texture, so much to the 
flavor, etc. ; for, as a matter of fact, there is no amount of 
pleasure that is with any uniformity due to texture, flavor, or 
any other factor, or to any definable combination of factors. 
And so it is with everything else. I value my tennis racket 
for its weight and balance and improved shape, the resilience 
of the strings, the exactness with which the handle fits my 
grasp, etc. I value my friend for his moral courage, his 
generosity, his wit, his barytone voice, his affection for me. 
Now all these features and proportions are sources of pleasure : 
let that be admitted. (Even so, in our late illustration, the 
physical properties of things are admittedly the cause of our 
sensations.) But neither a tennis racket nor a friend is ever 
valued by a calculation of amounts of pleasure — even sup- 
posing such a calculation to be possible. 

Conclusion. — The result of our discussion, then, is this : 
that although the hedonists are correct in saying that nothing 
is good except as it is capable of giving pleasure, or evil ex- 
cept as it is capable of giving pain ; nevertheless, in claiming 
that the goodness and evilness are proportional to the pleasure 
and pain provided, they are indulging in an idle speculation, 
for no actual valuations are conducted upon such a basis. 

Complexity of Value Systems. — This result may be 
viewed from a different point of view. The values of things, 
as we reckon them in our daily life, are of many different kinds, 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 271 

and the relations between these kinds are exceedingly complex 
and varied. The values of art alone — such as beauty, 
sublimity, comedy, and pathos — are subject matter for 
a science; and when we consider for a moment how the 
values of art are affected by economic, moral, and religious 
influences, the complexity of the subject is mightily increased. 
Such being the case, it is impossible to treat aesthetic values 
as reducible to amounts of pleasure and pain. No man 
of any critical appreciation at all would ever think of esti- 
mating the value of the simplest work of art in such terms. 
He might find it ' sweet ' or ' quaint ' or ' affecting ' or 
1 commonplace,' but never ' good for so much pleasure.' 

Sentiments and Institutions. — What we actually find 
among men is that the valuations of things are determined 
by a vast array of sentiments — sentiments which sometimes 
attach to particular things, as a favorite chair or a beloved 
wife, sometimes to types or kinds of things, as mission archi- 
tecture or military valor. These sentiments vary more or 
less with the character of individual men and, more im- 
portantly, with that of communities and races; and they 
have their expression in institutions great and small, from gov- 
ernments and confederacies to the games of childhood. The 
study of values must be the study of sentiments or of insti- 
tutions, or, in a comprehensive treatment, of both — their 
analysis and classification, and the tracing of the conditions 
and order of their development. 

In such a study the hedonistic calculus does not enter. 

V. Ethical Hedonism 

Full Discussion Unnecessary. — After dwelling so long 
upon hedonism as a general theory of values, we need say 
little about ethical hedonism in either of its forms ; for the 
same arguments are repeated upon both sides, 1 and the 

1 The argument against egoistic hedonism, based upon the 'hedonistic 
paradox,' deserves a footnote. If (it is said) to desire things only for the 



272 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

outcome is very much the same : that neither egoistic he- 
donism nor universalistic hedonism can be definitely proved 
to be false, but that neither has any concrete application in 
the conduct of life. 

One or two points of special interest must, however, be 
mentioned. 

(l) Are Moral Values Absolute? — Many thinkers who 
have been quite willing to adopt the pleasure theory for all 
other sorts of values have balked at its application to moral 
values, for this reason : that moral values (as they have said) 
are absolute, or unconditional, while the conduciveness of 
any sort of conduct to produce pleasure or pain depends upon 
circumstances and may vary greatly. Thus, for example, it 
is always right to tell the truth, and wrong to lie ; but there 
may well be occasions when the telling of a lie would make 
everybody concerned very happy. Again — to take the ex- 
ample which is of the greatest historical importance — it 

sake of pleasure takes away the pleasure, how can it be true that a man 
ought always to aim at his own greatest happiness ? Answer : Egoistic 
hedonism does not declare that a man ought always to aim at his own hap- 
piness. It declares that he ought to have such aims (both ultimate and 
proximate) as will, in general, promote his happiness; and that, indeed, this 
is the meaning of the word ' ought.' If the hedonistic paradox be correct, — 
if it be true that to aim at pleasure makes pleasure impossible, — then it 
simply follows that men ought not to aim at pleasure. This would be a 
somewhat pessimistic conclusion ; for it would mean that the more clearly 
men understood the ultimate consequences of their acts, the less would be 
their capacity for happiness. It would involve men in a hopeless struggle 
to put out of mind the main concern of life. But it would not be a logi- 
cally ridiculous conclusion. All that one can say is that if the paradox be 
correct, egoistic hedonism and the selfish theory are plainly incompatible. 
However, no advocate of the selfish theory would for a moment admit the 
paradox. 

We may remark in this connection that universalistic hedonism does not 
declare that a man ought always to aim at the happiness of all concerned. 
It simply declares that his aims ought to be such as will, in general, promote 
the happiness of all concerned. In other words, universalistic hedonism 
does not reduce all morality to benevolence. However, it does undoubtedly 
tend to encourage benevolence, just as egoistic hedonism tends to encourage 
an 'enlightened selfishness.' 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 273 

is never right to take from a man his property without due 
process of law ; and yet the accumulation of vast fortunes, 
with the accompanying impoverishment of a great portion 
of the people, may be the cause of untold misery which a 
wholesale confiscation might easily remedy. 

Radical and Conservative Views. — In the face of this con- 
tention we find hedonists taking two different positions. 

(1) Some have simply denied that moral values are abso- 
lute. Truth-telling is sometimes wrong, and confiscation, 
or even stealing, is sometimes right. These men were moral 
and political reformers of the most extreme type ; and they 
made of their hedonism the excuse for a general assault upon 
all manner of traditional prejudices and vested interests. 
And, as a matter of fact, though they sometimes seemed to 
lose their balance of judgment, hedonism has done a tremen- 
dous amount of good in the world through them. 

(2) But hedonism has also had its conservatives, who have 
maintained the absoluteness of moral distinctions, and es- 
pecially of the distinction between justice and injustice. In 
the first place, it has been said, the various rules by which 
right is distinguished from wrong have been laid down by 
God, whom we can trust to make all work out for the best if 
we obey him, and who will certainly punish us if we do not. 
This argument is, of course, very satisfactory to those who 
believe themselves possessed of a clear and unmistakable 
revelation of God's will in all the different circumstances of 
life. But to many other good and pious men it has seemed 
hard to believe that God could ever wish to punish us for 
doing what, aside from his special interference, was well calcu- 
lated to promote the general happiness, And so they, in 
the second place, have advanced the following : We must 
govern ourselves by universal rules. In every particular 
case there are so many conflicting considerations that enter, 
that if we stopped to weigh them all, we should never get 
anywhere. It is easy to see in a general way that lying is 



274 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

bad. But in each case when the temptation to lie arises, 
to calculate out all the possible effects of veracity and un- 
veracity would be beyond our understanding. Besides, in 
the particular cases our private interests or our personal sym- 
pathy is apt to be aroused, and our judgment thus disturbed. 
And, finally, even if the rule were well broken on one occa- 
sion (supposing that to be the only exception), still the habit 
of breaking it, or even of considering breaking it, would be 
dangerous ; and the example set to others, who perhaps had 
not the opportunity of considering all the special circum- 
stances of the case, might easily be even more dangerous. 
Hence we ought never to make an exception. A stock re- 
mark of the conservative hedonists is this : that bad as the 
present division of property among men is, no man, and no 
assembly of men, would be wise enough to replace it by a 
better division. 1 

However, the first alternative has, on the whole, been the 
more popular, and hedonists have generally been content to 
give up the absoluteness of moral values. 

(2) Egoistic and Universalistic Hedonism. — When one 
considers the two special forms of ethical hedonism — that 
which declares that a man ought always to act so as to pro- 
mote his own greatest happiness, and that which declares 
that he ought to act so as to promote the greatest happiness 
of all concerned — one must not forget the assumption, that 
happiness is to be estimated as an algebraic sum of pleasures 
and pains. If this assumption be forgotten, the egoistic for- 
mula is easily interpreted as an exhortation to self-improve- 
ment ; while the universalistic formula becomes practically 
an exhortation to benevolence. Now self-improvement and 
benevolence are, as we have elsewhere seen, two of the prin- 
cipal departments of morality. But, we repeat, it is not 
self-improvement or benevolence, as such, that is here in 
question, but two alternative hedonistic interpretations of 
moral values. 

1 This is the typical eighteenth-century doctrinaire individualism. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 275 

Either without the Other Unsatisfactory. — One very 
serious controversial difficulty that each of these interpreta- 
tions lies under is — the other interpretation. For, some- 
how, there has been a strong and persistent feeling that both 
ought to apply. If we take the egoistic interpretation by 
itself, it strikes us as being heartless : to say that a man is 
justified in following his own pleasure regardless of the 
possible misery of every one else in the universe. To be sure 
most men are more or less sympathetic, and hence find it 
impossible to be happy when those about them are unhappy. 
But some men are very unsympathetic ; and shall we say 
that their very hardness of heart is an excuse for every act 
of cruelty or neglect that policy may advise? Grant that 
prudence is an excellent thing : it does not seem to be all 
that we mean by morality. 

But when we take the universalistic interpretation by it- 
self, the case is not much improved. Have we the right to 
say that a man ought to promote the general happiness, even 
though his own everlasting misery should be the price? 
What if the net gain to the world as a whole were very slight, 
and the man's own misery exceedingly intense? If there 
be any possibility that virtue may demand such a sacrifice, 
we are moved to say, in the words of Bishop Butler, " that 
when we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to 
ourselves this or any other pursuit, till we are convinced that 
it will be for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it " 
(Sermons on Human Nature, XI). 

The Task of Reconciliation. — And so the task is set of 
showing that the two interpretations really coincide : that 
the same conduct which promotes the general happiness must 
also promote the happiness of the agent. A general coin- 
cidence is not hard to make out. We all know that as a 
matter of ordinary experience honesty is the best policy. 
But is the coincidence exact and complete? Are there no 
exceptions? Perhaps our religion assures us that in a 



276 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

future life all exceptions will be wiped out; and then this 
difficulty disappears for us. But if we have no such reli- 
gion, or if, as scientific men, we prefer to rest our case on ac- 
tual observations of men and manners, the difficulty remains. 
And, indeed, as controversy has gone on, hedonists have be- 
come more and more persuaded that the difficulty is insu- 
perable. Of the two most distinguished hedonists of recent 
times, Herbert Spencer and Henry Sidgwick, the former 
declared that only in an ideal society could a man's life be 
made right both toward himself and toward his fellow men ; 
while the latter threw himself into the study of ' spiritualistic ' 
phenomena, hoping to find empirical proof of a future life 
in which the inequalities of earthly fortune might be healed. 

(3) Futility of the Calculus. — Deeper than all such consid- 
erations, however, is the question of the practicability of the 
hedonistic calculus in ordering the affairs of life. We have 
already given our reasons for deciding this question in the 
negative. Leaving aside the question whether the calcula- 
tion and summation of pains and pleasures is theoretically 
possible at all, the fact remains that our actual moral conduct 
is directed after a completely different fashion. And, indeed, 
in any situation that is complicated enough to call for a deci- 
sion of conscience, the possible pleasures and pains involved 
are so multitudinous that a pretense of calculation is at once 
seen to be a mockery. We do respect our fellows' happiness, 
and we do have a prudential regard for our own ; but this is 
not the atomistic happiness of hedonistic theory, made up of 
moments of pleasantness and unpleasantness, but an organ- 
ized happiness, made up of all manner of interrelated goods. 
When, for example, I restrain an impulse to slap an exas- 
perating child, think of the interests that are involved, which 
the hedonistic calculus would have to pull to pieces and put 
together again. The conceivable pain of the slap, the dis- 
comfort of the continued annoyance, are only a beginning. 



THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 277 

Not to be too prolix, there is the order of the household, the 
prosecution of my work, the child's disposition, his sense 
of justice, the maintenance of affectionate relations between 
him and me — and each of these opens up vistas of cause and 
effect that stretch on endlessly. 

Hedonistic Interpretation of Moral Standards. — Hedonis- 
tic thinkers have come more and more to see the force of this 
objection, and they have tried to meet it as follows. The cal- 
culus of possible pains and pleasures does not have to be per- 
formed each time afresh, as if it had never been performed 
before. We have the accumulated experience of mankind 
for many centuries to guide us. For this is precisely what 
the traditional moral standards represent — the standards 
that require of us truth and courage and obedience to author- 
ity, and all the rest of the long list of virtues. They repre- 
sent precisely the sort of conduct which long experience has 
shown to be most conducive to the happiness of the agent 
himself or of others. On each particular occasion we have, 
therefore, only to consider how far any extraordinary special 
circumstances may modify the force of the general precepts. 

Criticism. — Now this suggestion comes very close to what 
is now very generally believed to be the truth of the matter ; 
and the reader should bear it in mind when he comes to con- 
sider our own account of the development of the moral senti- 
ments. But as a defense of ethical hedonism it does not hold. 
For it virtually refers back to the past the hedonistic calculus 
which we find impracticable in the present; with this difference, 
indeed, that it is not imagined possible pleasures and pains 
that must, for the most part, be summed up, but the reported 
or dimly remembered actual pleasures and pains of multi- 
tudes of men. Now it will not do to dump our difficulties 
upon the past. They bulk as largely there as in the present. 

Conclusion. — The truth is, ethical hedonism, like the 
whole hedonistic program, savors of what is called ' intellec- 
tualism.' By this is meant the tendency to explain men's 



278 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

perceptions, opinions, and sentiments, and their consequent 
conduct, in terms of supposed calculations or other reason- 
ings, of which they are supposed to be the logical outcome. 
It is, for example, intellectualistic to suppose (as psycholo- 
gists once did) that when a man meets a friend and recog- 
nizes him, he goes through a process of comparing the present 
perception with a revived image of his friend, and from their 
likeness concludes that they are to be referred to the same 
object. We know better than this now. The process of 
recognition seldom involves any such comparison or infer- 
ence. And, more and more, scholars are becoming convinced 
that reasoning plays a much smaller part in human life than 
has generally in the past been supposed. How this reflec- 
tion applies to the question of the nature and development 
of the moral sentiments will, we trust, be made sufficiently 
clear in the sequel. 

REFERENCES 

Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III, Ch. I, 156-170; 

Book IV, Chs. Ill, IV. 
Sidgwick, H., Methods of Ethics, Book I, Ch. IV; Books II and IV. 
Spencer, H., Data of Ethics, Chs. Ill, IV, IX. 
Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. II, 2, Ch. IX. 
Alexander, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book II, Ch. V. 
Sorley, W. R., Ethics of Naturalism, Part I. 
Rashdall, H., Theory of Good and Evil, Book I, Chs. II, III ; Book 

II, Ch. I. 
Paulsen, F., System of Ethics, Book II, Ch. II. 
Seth, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, Ch. I. 
Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. XV. 
Muirhead, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book III, Chs. I, III. 



PAET III 

THE EVOLUTIONARY THEORY OF MORAL 

VALUES 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 

I. Introduction 

Are the General Moral Predicates Definable? — At one 
time and another a good deal of space has been given by 
ethicists to the question whether the general moral predi- 
cates, ' good ' and ' bad/ and ' right ' and ' wrong/ are de- 
finable or indefinable. Just now less importance is attached 
to this question than formerly, for the reason that logicians 
have come to the conclusion that the distinction between 
the definable and the indefinable is not an absolute one. In 
a mathematical science, such as geometry, for example, it 
used to be thought that certain concepts — space, position, 
direction, distance — must be assumed as intrinsically in- 
definable, and the other concepts defined in terms of these. 
But it is now known that one may use the greatest freedom 
in choosing the terms that one shall treat as indefinable ; so 
that the distinction in question is seen to be always relative 
to some particular arrangement of the subject. What is 
defined in one book may be assumed as indefinable in another. 

They are Practically Indefinable. — But, putting the 
strictly logical question aside, we find that there are serious 
difficulties in the way of devising definitions of the moral 
predicates that shall be really illuminating and helpful, and 
at the same time shall not by implication involve a whole 
mass of disputed theories. ' Good/ we understand, is to 
mean ' morally good/ as distinguished from merely ' de- 
sirable/ or ' good ' in the widest sense of the term. But, 
then, we have to explain ' morally ' ; and, moreover, it re- 

281 



282 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

mains doubtful whether moral good is a kind of good, com- 
prised under the general conception of good, or a special 
meaning of the term ■ good/ as different, perhaps, from other 
goods as the bark of a dog is from the bark of a tree. ' Right ' 
may be denned in terms of ' ought ' ; but how shall we define 
' ought ' except in terms of ' right ' ? The two motions are 
obviously correlative, one no more fundamental than the 
other. 

The Question of Function. — Accordingly we must adopt 
some other mode of exposition, less direct but more practi- 
cable. Instead of asking at once what the meaning of the 
moral predicates is, let us ask what the function of morality 
is — what the part is that it plays in the life of the individ- 
ual and in that of society. It will be convenient for us to 
consider the social aspect of the question first, the individual 
aspect being postponed to the following chapter. 

II. Morality and Social Welfare 

The General Rule. — It is a very old and trite observation, 
that morality is of great advantage to any society. Courage, 
honesty, and thrift defend it from enemies without and within. 
Other things being equal, the family or community or state 
in which temperate living is the rule is the successful rival, 
both in war and in peace, of that in which undisciplined 
self-indulgence prevails. Protagoras, it will be remembered, 
pointed out that without the moral sentiments of justice 
and self-respect no organized society can hold together ; and 
the truth of this can easily be seen, even in the case of societies 
whose most prominent aims are immoral. " Honor among 
thieves " is proverbial ; and the pirate crew, that flaunts 
the red flag in the face of all the laws of Christendom, must 
have laws of its own and an iron discipline in their 
observance. 

Speaking generally, then, we may say that morality is very 
useful to society and that some degree or amount of it is ab- 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 283 

solutely essential to the existence of society. This general 
statement, of course, leaves room for all manner of particu- 
lar exceptions. It may still be true that some comparatively 
bad men are more useful to society than some better men ; 
or that some evil action may result in a higher social wel- 
fare than the right and proper alternative could have brought 
about; or, again, that in a struggle between two societies 
the less moral may triumph. Such cases may or may not 
occur. They often seem to occur, though some moralists 
have doubted or denied their reality. But whether they 
occur or not our general proposition is unaffected. As a 
general rule, the right is profitable and the wrong is unprofit- 
able — if not to the moral agent himself, at least to the 
society of which he is a member. 

The Case of Justice. — All this is strikingly clear where 
the alternatives of justice and injustice are in question. 
In the distribution of property, it often seems as if the 
interests of society would be much better served if one 
could simply ignore for a time the right and wrong of the 
matter. In a railway accident a wealthy man and his wife 
are killed, and a lawsuit over the estate arises between 
their relatives. If he died first, the property passed to 
her, and so goes now to her family ; if not, it goes to his 
family. The former are worthy people in straightened cir- 
cumstances ; the latter are already immensely wealthy. 
The evidence in the case is scant and uncertain ; but, in the 
judge's opinion, there is a slight presumption that the wife 
died first, and he decides accordingly. His action, we say, 
is just and right ; but would not a more desirable distribu- 
tion of property be secured if he silenced his moral principles 
and gave his decision the other way? There might, it is 
true, be some popular suspicion as to his motives that would 
tend to destroy confidence in him and perhaps also in the 
bench generally ; but there might not. He himself might 
fall into a habit of allowing his judgment to be warped by his 



284 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

sympathies; but, again, he might not. But if judges in 
general should set their sympathies above the law, there 
would be no doubt about the social injury that their evil 
practice would cause. Beneficial as the single act of injustice 
might be or appear, widespread injustice would work ruin. 

Are Some Moral Rules Hurtful ? — Sometimes, however, 
the general observance of a moral rule seems to many ob- 
servers to be exceedingly undesirable. Not only in particu- 
lar instances, but in the sum total of instances, it seems to 
them as if conformity did more harm than good — or, at 
least, as if conformity to a different rule would result in a 
larger balance of good. In many instances the accepted 
rule works well enough ; but the number and importance of 
the instances in which it works ill is so great that it seems 
incorrect to set them down as mere exceptions. They 
threaten the value of the rule itself. 

Such a rule is this : Give every man his due; which is inter- 
preted to mean : Return good for good and evil for evil; or, 
in the biblical phrase, Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate 
thine enemy. It is a venerable maxim, which has been widely 
reverenced and followed. To thousands upon thousands of 
men its soundness and justice have been perfectly manifest. 
Yet thoughtful observers can see limits to its usefulness. To 
return evil for evil invites further retaliation. Hate increases 
hate, and the gust of passion becomes a deep and abiding 
rancor. But enemies must be constantly on guard against 
each other ; and this is a strain upon the resources which they 
might otherwise devote to useful ends, and is thus a hindrance 
to normal social development ; whereas friendship and mutual 
helpfulness are the most potent instrumentalities of culture. 
Can these facts be regarded as merely exceptional considera- 
tions ? 

Such Rules have once seemed Advantageous. — But it 
must be observed, with respect to these moral standards whose 
social value is called in question, that in times past the evil 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 285 

consequences which their observance entailed were much 
less in magnitude, or at any rate much less obvious, than 
has since been the case. Though ill adapted to present con- 
ditions, they were excellently adapted to former conditions ; 
or, to speak more guardedly, their shortcomings were not 
such as the men of an older time readily appreciated. Let 
us return to the illustration which we have just used. In a 
military civilization — i.e. where war is always either actual 
or imminent — a good hater has a very evident value. The 
man who can be counted on to strike back and to put his 
heart into the blow is a man whom one hesitates to attack. 
A common hatred even brings men together, and indeed has 
been one of the great influences leading to the formation of 
the larger social groups. Enmity, though itself a form of 
disunion, may thus be a source of union and strength. On 
the other hand, a man who will not fight for his own rights 
can scarcely be expected to fight for his friends' rights, and 
so he will have few friends. The same is, of course, true of 
the family, the tribe, and the state. It is, therefore, not 
hard to see why a revengeful spirit should long have been 
counted among the virtues. 

Their Influence is Declining. — Furthermore, when a 
standard has lost its real or apparent social utility, it tends 
to lose its hold upon men's respect, and to be gradually sup- 
planted by some modification more in accordance with the 
finer requirements of the new conditions. Sooner or later 
some moral reformer cries out : "It has been said unto you 
by men of old time . . . but I say unto you ..." And 
though many men may long continue to regard him as an 
impractical idealist, the consciences of an increasing number 
acknowledge the new claim which he has laid upon their 
obedience. The reform may be ultimately unsuccessful. 
It may never win general support. Or it may be so com- 
pletely triumphant that men will no longer realize that the 
older, cruder moral standard ever held sway. 



286 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Summary. — Accordingly, the moral standards to be 
found at any time in a society may be divided into three 
classes : first, the great body of rules and ideals upon which 
the welfare, and even the existence, of society rests; sec- 
ondly, those which have in times past been similarly useful, 
but now reveal serious shortcomings; . and, thirdly, the 
newer standards which changing needs have brought forth, 
but which have not yet won general recognition. 

III. Social Intercourse 

Let us now ask the deeper question : In what does this 
social utility of morality consist? What manner of service 
does it perform? We have already anticipated the answer 
to this question, as, indeed, we could scarcely help doing; 
but it must be set forth explicitly. With this object in view 
we will here take note of a few important truths with regard 
to the nature of societies. 

Society more than an Aggregate. — A society, as we well 
know, is not a mere aggregate of individuals that happen to 
be living together in the same place. It is true that, gen- 
erally speaking, the members of a society must, at least at 
certain times, come together ; but this requirement, though 
necessary, is not sufficient. This is easily seen in the case 
of any particular form of social organization. Take the 
family, for instance. It is possible for a domestic servant to 
live in a house for months or even years, and never become 
a member of the family ; while, on the other hand, he or she 
may be ' taken into the family ' almost at the outset. Simi- 
larly in the case of polite society : one may long be a dweller 
in the midst of it, and even be constantly endeavoring to 
force one's way into membership, and yet remain permanently 
excluded. And so it is with society at large. French sol- 
diers were garrisoned for months in the city of Moscow; 
but they did not become in any sense members of the 
community. 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 287 

In the same way, the possession of a common language is 
commonly necessary for membership in the same society; 
but this, too, is seldom or never a sufficient condition. 

Analogy of the Animal Organism. — A society is often 
compared to an animal organism, and social intercourse 
to the life of the organism. Few comparisons are more help- 
ful and none is more dangerous. Just because it is so sugges- 
tive, we are easily tempted to carry it too far. We can find 
analogies for cells and tissues and organs ; for nutrition, the 
circulation of the blood, nervous activity, reproduction, 
growth, and decay. For individuals are like cells; classes 
and conditions of men are like tissues ; courts and schools 
and armies are like organs. Society transforms raw materials 
into forms suitable for its use ; it has its channels of trade, 
and its lines of communication and control; it throws off 
colonies ; it increases in size and strength and range of ac- 
tivity; and it shrinks and shrivels into significance. To 
follow out these analogies in detail is a most valuable exercise. 
The attention is sharpened, and is directed toward features 
of social organization which might otherwise be unnoticed; 
and, in fact, it is under the guidance of such analogies that 
a great part of our knowledge of society has been acquired. 

Failure of the Analogy. — But let us note, in the first 
place, that the human individual stands in a very different 
relation to the classes and institutions of society, from that 
in which the body cell stands to the tissues and organs of 
the individual body. The cell is definitely of one sort or 
another, and of only one sort. It may be nerve cell or muscle 
cell, for instance; but it cannot be both at once. And, 
similarly, if it is a part of one organ, it cannot be part of 
another. But the individual man belongs to one class by 
his occupation, to another by his religion, to another by 
reason of his aesthetic culture, etc. And he may be at the 
same time member of a family, a business firm, a church, a 
musical club, a political organization, etc. Man, especially 



288 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

civilized man, is of a many-sided nature; and each side 
connects him differently with his fellows. 

The Extent of a Society. — Let us note, in the second 
place, the ambiguity of the term ' society.' It may stand 
for any one of the many organizations to which a man may 
belong. Or it may stand for the organization made up of all 
these organizations, for the complex unity made up of a mul- 
titude of men bound together in any or all of the ways in 
which men are bound together. It is evident that in this 
latter sense one society is rarely marked off sharply from 
another. National boundary lines must not deceive us. In 
some respects the society to which a man belongs may be 
confined to a single village. In other respects it may over- 
spread many nations. Here, then, is a second important 
respect in which the analogy with the animal organism 
breaks down. A society extends as far as social intercourse 
extends. Where means of transportation and communication 
fail, the society stops ; and thus under primitive conditions 
societies are apt to be far more definitely separated than 
is the case with us. The railroad, the steamship, and the 
electric telegraph have so enlarged the possibilities of social 
intercourse, that the whole world is rapidly becoming one 
society. 

Elements of Social Intercourse. — But what is social in- 
tercourse ? An answer to this question would have positive 
significance for us — not merely the negative value of a 
distinction between society and the organism. Several ele- 
ments can easily be recognized. First, there is interchange 
of services. We say ' interchange/ for although certain mem- 
bers of a society, the babes and the helpless invalids and the 
old men and women, are, during a limited period, merely 
recipients of services, yet normally some payment in kind 
will be or has been made. The idle rich may also be thought 
to be exceptions. But a moment's reflection recalls the fact, 
that, though such persons are of no use to the world at large, 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 289 

they do perform a variety of services for each other; and 
these strictly confined mutual services mark them out as a 
distinct class. 

Secondly, there is interchange of goods. This, indeed, 
might easily be included under the first heading, as an indi- 
rect exchange of services. There is an important difference, 
however, for which our terminology ought in some way to 
provide. A man often works for a lifetime, without ever 
forming the least acquaintance with any one of those who 
enjoy the products of his labor. These pass from hand 
to hand indefinitely, and personal contact is utterly lost. 
Whereas, then, in the direct interchange of services the con- 
nection that is established is physical and psychical at once, 
in the interchange of goods the physical connection stretches 
on continuously, while the psychological connection is con- 
stantly broken. Still, the distinction is not a sharp one. 
There are public services of many kinds, both in war and in 
peace, where the personal acquaintance between those who 
labor and those who enjoy has a very limited range indeed — 
becomes, in fact, merely symbolic. 

Thirdly, there is interchange of ideas — that is to say, of 
conceptions and beliefs. And, fourthly, there is interchange 
of sentiments — which is as much as to say, of the valuations 
habitually set upon things. Here, again, these two kinds 
might easily be consolidated into one ; and we prefer to sepa- 
rate them only because the latter head is, as will soon appear, 
particularly important. 

Importance of a Common Language. — It is, of course, for 
the communication of ideas and sentiments that a common 
language is so important. Translators and interpreters can 
effect much, but can never wholly wipe out a linguistic 
barrier. A religious movement, for example, like the spread 
of Methodism or of Christian Science, may assume powerful 
proportions in English-speaking countries, and cause scarcely 
a ripple of excitement outside. The Elizabethan drama ran 



290 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

its course in England, and nearly two centuries elapsed be- 
fore its influence upon the German drama showed itself of 
decisive importance. By the time the demand for trans- 
lation comes, a movement must have already gained consider- 
able importance in its mother tongue ; and the demand may 
never come. In Germany, in the half century following the 
publication of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason (1781), there 
was a philosophical activity such as the world has seldom 
known. But during that time its influence outside of Ger- 
many was very feeble ; and even down to our own day the 
natural philosophy of Schelling and the metaphysics of Her-, 
bart (two of the greatest geniuses of the period) have been 
almost entirely without foreign influence. 

In the interchange of sentiments, language is perhaps of 
less importance than conduct — the observable preferences 
which men display for one state of things as against another. 
At any rate, language alone can effect little. Our expressed 
admiration for a symphony will do little for its success, if we 
are not willing to stop and listen to it. Our outspoken con- 
demnation of an act of injustice will go for naught, if we 
promptly commit a similar injustice at the first opportunity. 
This is in line with what the adage says : that " actions speak 
louder than words." They not only express one's sense of 
values more unmistakably, but they are far more likely to 
awaken a similar appreciation in others. 

Interchange of Sentiments fundamentally Important. — 
All these four varieties of intercourse — the interchange of 
services, goods, ideas, and sentiments — are inseparable from 
the existence of society. But if any one is of predominant 
importance, it is the last. Trade and commerce are, as we 
have pointed out, an imperfect mode of union. Ideas to 
which no sentiments attach do not receive any persistent 
attention. And as for mutual services, it is easy to see that 
generally some common sentiment underlies them. Each man 
concerned must, in some way, take an interest in the others' 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 291 

welfare ; and when one man does something for another, the 
doer must (in the vast majority of instances) think the favor 
worth the pains, and also expect that it will be appreciated 
by the recipient. We do not intentionally cast pearls before 
swine, or play sonatas for those who are tone deaf, or read 
poetry to one whose comment will be : " What does that 
prove? " We may further say that common sentiments are 
a direct cause of mutual services. The things and relations 
that men value may be divided into two classes : those which 
they enjoy in common or without mutual deprivation, such 
as good roads, good police protection, good literature, good 
religion ; and those which they enjoy exclusively, and for the 
possession of which they compete. That the former may 
be possible to them, they must cooperate. But even for the 
latter, cooperation in some form is necessary, in order that 
the struggle for exclusive possession may not end in all being 
alike destitute. Common sentiments and mutual services 
are thus approximately coextensive, and the former are the 
prevailing cause of the latter. Thus the interchange of sen- 
timents, by which community in them is established, may 
well be regarded as the fundamental part of social inter- 
course. 

Sympathy. — How the sentiments are communicated from 
man to man is a question that we shall have to consider 
carefully in a later chapter. Here we must be content with 
the common-sense observation that it depends upon sympathy, 
the tendency which men show to feel emotions similar to 
those which are felt by others around them. Where men 
sympathize with each other in their joys and sorrows, their 
pride and fear and love and indignation, there somehow a 
community of sentiments extends and some form of social 
organization prevails. 

The Common Good. — This doctrine, that the basis of 
social unity is community of sentiments, is often expressed 
in the equivalent form, that every social bond implies a com- 



292 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

mon good. Perhaps in this form it is easier to trace it 
through its manifold applications. The common good may 
be a piece of material property; or it may be as abstract 
and impalpable as religious liberty. In the family the num- 
ber of such goods is very great indeed — so great as to defy 
classification. In such a specialized institution as a school 
there is but one, or a few closely associated principal goods, 
although about these a variety of lesser goods are likely 
to cluster. In the huge and complex university, the unity 
of interests is in danger of being lost, unless the sharing of 
its name and the common pride in its student activities (in 
which members of all departments take part) suffice to hold 
it together. In the state there are a multitude of common 
goods, but all are centered in one : the maintenance of jus- 
tice. When in any state a manifest injustice is done to any 
of its citizens, and remains unredressed, every citizen that 
is worthy of the name feels himself assailed. For though 
the original offense may affect the injured man alone, or 
perhaps some few who are moved to pity for the suffering 
he may have to endure, the miscarriage of justice is an evil 
to every man alike. A ' sentimental ' evil ? Yes ; but 
not more sentimental than most of the other goods or evils 
that make life worth living or rob it of its sweetness. 

IV. The Relation of Morality to Social Intercourse 

Morality a Condition of Intercourse. — Let us now return 
to the question which was raised with respect to the nature 
of the social utility of morality, a question which we may 
now phrase : How does morality affect the interchange of 
services, of goods, and of ideas and sentiments? or, in the 
reverse form : How does immorality affect the interchange 
of these things? The answer is obvious. Immorality 
checks, retards, or puts an entire stop to social intercourse, 
while morality facilitates it. 

Consider some examples. What effect has dishonesty upon 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 293 

the interchange of goods? By impairing credit, it tends to 
limit exchange to the occasions when the goods can be im- 
mediately delivered on both sides, or an iron-clad security 
can be given for future delivery ; and where this extreme 
is not reached, the added risk shows itself in exaggerated 
demands. What is the effect of intemperance upon the 
interchange of sentiments? The intemperate man, with 
his whole attention absorbed by a few overmastering desires, 
simply cuts himself off from the great mass of human inter- 
ests. He inevitably impoverishes his life. In like manner, 
the coward is unfitted by his vice to take a normal view of a 
multitude of enterprizes to which powerful sentiments at- 
tach : war, sport, and even many business activities. What 
is the effect of lying upon friendship? What is the effect 
of selfishness and cruelty upon the relations of husband and 
wife ? And, in a larger field, what is the effect upon a man's 
relations with his fellow-citizens, of a life of ruthless com- 
mercial brigandage? Such questions do not have to be an- 
swered one by one. Immorality of every kind necessarily 
produces isolation; and if we should stop to inquire about 
the effect of cruelty and ingratitude and insincerity upon 
the interchange of services and ideas, we should be led to an 
identical conclusion. The proverbial loneliness of the tyrant 
— lonely in the midst of his servants, his favorites, and his 
concubines — is simply an extreme instance of the workings 
of the universal law. 

Incidental Exceptions. — It is true that incidentally a con- 
trary effect may be produced. Any common interest what- 
soever may bring men together, and the satisfaction of a 
vicious inclination will serve the turn. But the universal 
and necessary effect is not thereby eliminated. Though a 
little society is formed, the rupture with the larger society 
remains. And even within the little society of inebriates or 
gamblers or aristocratic parasites, it is the moral qualities 
which they possess that form the real connection between 



294 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

them. Drunkards, for example, may be generous and kindly 
men. Gamblers may be (according to the conventions of 
the game) honest and honorable men. The national vice of 
the Filipinos, against which their great leaders have inef- 
fectually protested, is cock-fighting, with the attendant 
gambling. But they have no stakeholders. The man who 
wishes to place a bet simply goes about offering his money 
to any one who will take it, until some one accepts. If he 
loses, the money stays where it is. If he wins, it is handed 
back to him with the proper addition. An American soldier, 
who was out of cash, once accepted forty pesos from the mayor 
of a Filipino town, on a wager of this sort. By good fortune 
he won ; but if he had lost, it would have made the name of 
American infamous throughout the countryside, and would 
have put a serious obstacle to further gambling between 
Americans and Filipinos. 

" Only the good are friends," was an accepted principle 
among the Greek ethicists. True enough ; except that good 
men and bad men are by no means so sharply distinguished 
as some of the ancients supposed. If we phrase it with an 
1 in so far as ' — " It is only in so far as men are good that 
they can be friends " — it expresses an indubitable truth. 

Incidentally, too, morality may cause division between 
men. Any marked difference in sentiments — aesthetic, re- 
ligious, political, or what-not — which makes men disagree- 
able to each other, puts them out of sympathy, and so inter- 
feres with the interchange of sentiments of any kind; and 
a difference in moral sentiments may have this effect. " Be 
good, and you will be lonesome," said the great humorist ; 
but he meant by being good, holding oneself severely aloof 
from the pleasures that men ordinarily consider innocent or 
nearly so. But in such cases what generally does the harm 
is not a mere difference of moral sentiments, but moral 
intolerance, priggishness. A man's unwillingness to smoke, 
because he thinks that smoking is wrong, will not necessarily 



SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 295 

put any bar between him and the common run of smoking 
men, provided he respects the sincerity of their contrary 
opinion. We must be on our guard, therefore, against at- 
tributing to morality an effect which is really due to a subtle 
form of immorality. 

Conclusion. — After making due allowance for these sec- 
ondary phenomena, we are brought back to the general 
principle : that the social significance of morality is that it 
facilitates social intercourse, while immorality checks or 
prevents it. A greater importance could hardly be ascribed 
to the distinction. For it makes morality an essential con- 
dition for the existence of any social values whatsoever, that 
is to say, of any common good ; or, what amounts to the same 
thing, an essential condition of the existence of society itself. 



REFERENCES 

Spencer, H., Data of Ethics, Ch. VIII. 

Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Chs. III-V. 

Clifford, W. K., Lectures and Essays: On the Scientific Basis of 

Morals, and Right and Wrong. 
Wundt, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. II. 
Bosanquet, B., Philosophical Theory of the State, Chs. V, VII. 
Mackenzie, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book III, Chs. I, II. 
Muirhead, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. 



CHAPTER XV 

CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND RVALUE 
I. Morality and Individual Welfare 

Effect of Morality on Other Individuals. — That, as a 
general rule, the better men are the happier they make those 
about them, is a proposition that no one seriously denies. 
Sometimes the good man interferes with the immoral pleas- 
ures of others, or (through an error of judgment) even with 
their innocent pleasures ; and he may make a decided nui- 
sance of himself by ill-advised attempts at discipline or 
charity. And sometimes, too, the bad man gives a good deal 
of pleasure to others by his very badness. But, when all 
such admissions have been made, we are well aware that the 
truth of the general principle remains unaffected. Some men 
(as we recall) have held that all morality is reducible to be- 
nevolence, the desire to make other men happier. Whether 
this is true or not, the general effect of morality is certainly 
to make others happier. To the direct working out of benev- 
olent intentions must be added the indirect benefit that comes 
from the facilitation of social intercourse, and, above all, 
from the tendency of good men to make others like them- 
selves, and so happier. 

Are Good Men themselves made Happier? — For this 
also is true : that, in general, good men are happier than 
bad men, and that the better men are the happier they are. 
But this proposition is not nearly so obvious as the foregoing, 
and demands a thoroughgoing examination. It is easy to 
dispute, and is sometimes disputed ; and to give a formal 
demonstration of it that carries any conviction is most difficult. 
We cannot compile graded lists of moral and immoral men, 

296 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 297 

and of happy and unhappy men, and then by comparison 
determine how far the gradations run parallel. One of us 
cannot even prove in this fashion that he is himself happier 
when he is good than when he is bad ; for nothing is more 
deceptive than our impression of our former joys and sorrows. 
These may be deepened or effaced or distorted to such an 
extent that it is dangerous to admit them into evidence. 
Propositions of this sort, maxims of common human wis- 
dom, are the net result of an age-long experience of untold 
multitudes of men, — now confirmed, now contradicted, and 
again confirmed or contradicted, — so that the judgment that 
prevails is the resultant of innumerable petty forces which 
no pen can record. That is why they are so easily disputed ; 
for while the (real or apparent) exceptions may be unimpor- 
tant in the great total, they are very numerous in them- 
selves ; and a few striking instances can always be cited to 
make out a case for the dissentient. 

A favorite ancient example of a good man made miserable 
by his excessive goodness is Regulus, tortured by the Cartha- 
ginians. He would not advise the Romans to make peace 
(as his Carthaginian captors wished), and he would not break 
his promise to return to Carthage if peace were not declared. 
The latter course, since it could not be kept concealed, would 
have brought him into public contempt, and so might well 
have made him miserable — though hardly more miserable 
than the awful tortures. But he might easily have concealed 
his opinion. It was easy to argue for peace ; in fact the great 
majority of the Romans were strongly inclined to favor it. 
And though his secret conscience might still have troubled 
him for a time, that sting would eventually have died out, 
and he would have ended by persuading himself that very 
likely he had acted for the best anyhow. An unscrupulous 
man could cheerfully have chosen the easy and comfortable 
course, and would not even have had to pay the penalty 
of a restive conscience afterwards. 



298 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Are the Good necessarily Happy ? — However, when we 
look carefully into the dispute, we find that the general truth 
of the principle is seldom called in question. It is the number 
and importance of the exceptions that disagreement turns on. 
Certain extremists, like the stoics, have held that moral 
goodness and happiness are absolutely coextensive, or rather 
are simply different names or different aspects of the same 
thing ; while many others, though admitting the distinction, 
have maintained that in the long run virtue must lead to 
happiness and vice must lead to misery. But the argu- 
ments (where there are any) for these contentions are either 
metaphysical or religious ; and hence are restricted in their 
appeal to men of a similar metaphysical or religious bias. 
Common experience does not support them. Even were the 
extreme position perfectly true, our observations are so far 
from being full and exact that we should never be able to 
demonstrate its correctness. To be sure, we cannot refute 
it. The dogmatic believer can always refer to secret pangs 
of remorse or to a purgatory or hell awaiting the wicked in 
the hereafter ; and so one can prove that he is wrong. But 
such considerations lie outside the field of science. 

Let us see what light can be thrown upon the principle 
by a study of the significance of morality as a factor in in- 
dividual life. 

II. Chakacter 

The Unity of Character. — Character may be roughly 
defined as the whole body of tendencies in a man, to act in 
various ways in various circumstances ; each such tendency 
being called a ' trait of character.' But one must beware 
of regarding these traits as making up a mere aggregate. 
Any trait that one might mention is apt to be inextricably 
involved with many others. Of the infant, indeed, this is 
hardly true. He is a bundle of uncorrelated instincts. But 
his education consists mainly of the correlation of instincts, 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 299 

the fusing of them into what we call character. It is like the 
forming of a handwriting. The unformed hand sprawls 
its line in all sorts of ways, now at one angle, now at another, 
as the uncontrolled impulse of the hand determines. On 
the same page different portions may seem to be utterly dis- 
similar to each other. But the formed hand has its distinc- 
tive ' character/ recognizable at a glance. All the twists 
and curlycues are somehow brought into relation with each 
other, so that they form one whole. So the infant is at one 
moment a fretful hunger, at another a cooing contentment, 
and at yet another a wailing pin prick ; and there is no con- 
nection between these various phases. But the man of 
formed character, though he may be hungry, is seldom 
merely hungry ; and into his deepest contentment pin pricks 
find their way. He scarcely ever acts from mere instinct. 
He eats with knife and fork, handled as society directs ; or, 
if he be a savage, holds (say) his corn in his left hand and his 
meat in his right. He drinks his soup without making a 
noise — unless, being a Japanese, he makes a very loud noise 
indeed. When he fights to the death with his worst enemy, 
he avoids using a foul stroke. And his whole mode of con- 
duct, from eating and drinking to fighting and dying, is some- 
how bound together to make up his unitary personality. It 
is only under the disintegrating influence of disease or drugs, 
or of some overwhelming passion, that the work of education 
may be swept away, and he be reduced again to the condition 
of the infant — a single incarnate want. 

How Character Develops. — The development of charac- 
ter is thus not a mere intensification or weakening of inherited 
traits, whereby, for example, jealousy, cupidity, and iras- 
cibility may be strengthened at the expense of joviality and 
talkativeness. Such strengthening and weakening do, of 
course, occur, but they are not the distinctive feature of the 
process. It is essentially a complication, a weaving together 
of traits into composite wholes. It is brought about by the 



300 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

conflict of impulses, instinctive or previously acquired; 
that is to say, if each instinct could operate in complete inde- 
pendence of every other, the development of character would 
never take place. To adopt a well-known analogy (of Gabriel 
Tarde), it is the cross-fertilization of impulses that is respon- 
sible for the result. 

Habitual Preferences. — Suppose a situation arises, in 
which the agent is impelled toward two ends between which 
a choice must be made. One or the other of the impulses 
shows itself the stronger by issuing in action. If the choice 
proves unsatisfactory — which may depend upon many fac- 
tors, such as the attitude of the bystanders and the persist- 
ence of the ungratified impulse, as well as upon the direct 
outcome of the action itself — then, in a similar situation, 
the impulse that triumphed before is less likely to triumph 
again. The unpleasantness of the after-effects adds its 
force to the contrary tendency ; and by a cumulation of such 
results the direction of choice may be reversed. But let the 
consequences of choice be satisfactory, and the chance of 
its repetition is increased. Thus the repeated conflict of 
impulses leads to the regular subordination of one to the other. 
In other words, a habitual preference (or volitional disposition) 
is built up. It is important to note that such a preference has 
a force of its own that is measurably independent of the rel- 
ative strength of the two impulses as they come into conflict. 
If on some occasion the subordinated impulse is unusually 
strong, and the dominant impulse weak, the latter will 
promptly increase in strength, as if from some inner reser- 
voir, and will probably carry the day. The habitual prefer- 
ence has thus a stability which the uncoordinated elementary 
impulses do not possess ; and the conduct which it controls 
has a higher degree of regularity. It is of habitual prefer- 
ences that what we call ' character ' is mainly, if not entirely, 
composed. 

The establishment of habitual preferences must be care- 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 301 

fully distinguished from the further stage in the process of 
habituation, in which the consciousness of preference is lost ; 
and action becomes as simple and spontaneous as if it were 
prompted by a single original instinct. The result is then 
a habit in the proper sense of the term ; though in general 
literature ' habit ' is often used to include habitual prefer- 
ences. However, it is not only in active choice that habitual 
preferences show themselves. When situations that would 
be preferred (to their common alternatives) are met with, 
the habitual preference manifests itself in the acceptance 
of the situation, that is to say, in pleased relaxation. And 
again, in situations which would generally be avoided, no 
suggestion of escape may present itself ; and then the habit- 
ual preference shows itself in an unpleasant tension. Perhaps 
for this reason ' volitional disposition ' (the literal transla- 
tion of the German Begehrungsdispositiori) is a better term. 
But it is even more cumbersome; and so, with this word 
of explanation, we shall continue to use the other. 

Complexity of Habitual Preferences. — The earliest habit- 
ual preferences are very simple. The situation that calls for 
choice contains but one or two relevant features that tend to 
awaken any feeling. But as the development proceeds, this 
is no longer true. We prefer, let us say, blue to red, but not 
as the color of a house. Most of our neckties are blue or 
gray ; yet we like a brighter flash of color for a change — 
though many men would rather see it on another than on 
themselves. We like a red dressing jacket ; it looks so warm 
and cozy. A young woman can wear red on many occasions 
where in an older woman it would give offense. To a person 
of cultivated taste the question whether red or blue is in 
general preferable may well appear ridiculous, the prefer- 
ence depends upon so many possibilities. The choice is no 
longer between A and B simply, but between A and B, if C, 
when D, provided E, and so on to the end of the alphabet ; 
or, even so, not between A and B, but between such and such 



302 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

relative amounts of the one and the other. The factors may 
easily be so numerous as to defy enumeration ; nay, even 
the most careful analysis may fail to reveal more than a 
very few of them. The situation is somehow taken in as a 
whole. It belongs to a type with which he has gradually 
become familiar; and it is his acquired preferences with 
respect to the type that determine his choice in the matter. 

Different .Sides of Character. — As habitual preferences 
of greater and greater complexity are formed, they group 
themselves into fairly distinct masses. For, in the ordinary 
course of life, we do not have to choose between a smile and 
a sunset, a bow and a second cup of coffee. But between the 
smile and the bow (or both, or neither) we do have to choose 
if we are to display good manners. The various occupations 
that make up the day and the year, ■ — the various relations 
into which we are brought with our fellow men, — business, 
sport, domestic life, social entertainment, art, science, politics, 
religion, — each have their hosts of delicately shifting situa- 
tions in which different sides of character display themselves. 
And very commonly the different sides function in virtual 
independence of each other. A man's good taste has nothing 
to do with his buying or selling railroad stocks. His reli- 
gion has nothing to do with his accepting an invitation to 
dinner. In some men the cleavage is so complete that they 
seem almost to be multiple personalities — like Jekyll and 
Hyde. Between (say) the corrupt politician and the faith- 
ful and tender husband, between the social leader and the 
religious devotee, there may seem to be only the accidental 
connection of their being lodged in the same body. 

Moral Habits and their Function. — And yet, as we know, 
it is only in peculiar cases of mental disease that this cleavage 
of the personality is really thoroughgoing. In the sane man 
there are a body of habitual preferences that run through 
all the many different departments of conduct and serve 
to unite them into a whole. These habitual preferences 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 303 

are called moral habits, and taken together they make up the 
moral character. It is their function to reenforce, hold in 
check, harmonize, control all the other habitual preferences. 
A financier, let us say, is endeavoring to rehabilitate a weak 
concern. His conduct in so doing is for the most part simply 
controlled by his character as business man. But let him 
grow wearied or discouraged, and his industry and perse- 
verance keep him to the task, and self-respect makes him still 
strive to do his best — moral habits which would be of 
equal service to him if he should undertake to learn to play 
the violin. On the other hand, his plan involves the selling 
of an issue of bonds, the value of which is largely speculative ; 
and when an elderly woman, attracted by the high rate of 
interest that is offered, proposes to invest her savings in them, 
he cannot advise her to do so. His moral character will not 
let him, just as it would not let him filch her purse from her 
pocket. In order to succeed in his undertaking he needs 
the support of some man of great wealth. The wife of one 
such man, whose antecedents are humble, has been vainly 
trying to make her way into society. By asking his own wife 
to call upon her, he can easily conciliate the husband's favor. 
Shall he do so ? His gentlemanly ' instincts ' are outraged 
at the thought. But the condition of his affairs is now des- 
perate. Failure, besides the great loss of time and money in- 
volved, would seriously injure his prestige. Ought he to let 
slip such an opportunity of relief? It belongs to his moral 
character to decide. 

Non-moral Unity of Character. — Sometimes a kind of 
unity is given to character by the dominance of some body 
of habitual preferences other than the moral habits. A man 
may be an artist in all things — in love, in religion, in politics, 
and so on. Not that his aesthetic tastes are always active, 
but that when an important clash occurs, these decide the 
issue. And a man may be a politician in all things, or a man 
of business, or the father of a family. But when this happens, 



304 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the development of the other sides of the character is seri- 
ously dwarfed. The man who is first and last an artist can- 
not be a very good husband. The mere business man is a 
poor patriot. The unity that results is a one-sided unity. 
Now, to be sure, something analogous may happen as a re- 
sult of the dominance of the moral habits. It may, for 
example, very well be that a man's moral nature interferes 
with his development as an artist. Lowell thought that this 
had been the case with himself. But this result is relatively 
infrequent and unimportant. As a rule a man's morality 
does not injure his taste — quite the reverse. But the dwarf- 
ing produced by the dominance of the other sides of character 
is inevitable and far-reaching. 

Unity of Character Imperfect. — After all, it must be re- 
membered, the unity of character which the moral habits 
produce is never perfect. No man is ever completely at one 
with himself. Again and again situations arise in which the 
conflict of the different elements of character is irreconcil- 
able, and, whatever choice is made, a persistent regret re- 
mains. The disconnected instincts from which education 
sets out are not wholly fused at the end. The moral habits 
themselves sometimes clash with one another; and though 
there is in each man a certain amount of subordination among 
them, the order is by no means clear and fixed. Complete 
unity of character is simply an ideal limit toward which the 
more strongly knit characters tend. We are all more or less 
creatures of impulse. Perhaps we shall find reason to think 
that this is not an unmixed disadvantage. 

III. The Sentiments 
Character as Seen from Within. — We have been looking 
at the structure of human character from the outside ; that 
is to say, we have thought of character simply as that which 
controls conduct. What is it from the inside? What is it 
in the direct experience of the man himself? 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 305 

The inner, conscious side of an habitual preference we shall 
call a sentiment. The usage of this term varies greatly, among 
both popular and scientific writers. As here defined, it has 
a somewhat wider sense than is common. It would generally 
be restricted to cases where the habitual preference was 
highly developed and applied to very complex types of situa- 
tions. One little girl's predilection for red and another's 
for blue would not ordinarily be called sentiments. However, 
the point is of little importance to us, as the sentiments with 
which we shall be especially concerned belong to a much 
higher grade of development. 

An Organization of Feelings. — Now, with the possible 
exception of the very simplest cases, a sentiment is not one 
certain conscious process, but a system of interconnected 
processes, that can never occur together in one moment of 
time. The sentiment of the tragic, for instance, is not just 
one peculiar feeling; nor is the sentiment of justice one 
peculiar feeling. They are organizations of feelings that can 
at most follow each other closely in consciousness. It is 
not even true that there is some one feeling that must always 
arise if the sentiment is to be experienced, while the others 
accompany it or not as the case may be. The sentiment 
may be represented by any one of a host of feelings, between 
which little, if any, universal resemblance may exist. 

Analogy of the Concept. — The sentiment thus plays a 
part in the affective life of man similar to that which the 
concept plays in his cognitive life. Suppose I take a child's 
building block in my hand, and look it over on all sides. As 
I place it at each new angle, my visual image of it takes a 
different shape. At no time do I see the six square faces at 
once ; and, indeed, it is only by limiting my view to a single 
face that I can make its four sides equal ' to the eye.' But 
I never for a moment doubt that I am looking at a cube. 
Each different view of the object conforms perfectly with 
this conviction. It belongs to such a solid to present just such 



306 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

varying appearances under just such conditions, — and I 
should be mightily surprised if it behaved otherwise. If, 
for example, I should see at one time six faces, all of whose 
sides were equal ' to the eye,' I should be instantly convinced 
that the block was not a cube. Now by my concept of the 
block's shape I mean the whole organization of ideas (of 
which only a vanishingly small part is ever present to con- 
sciousness at one time) which underlies my present experience 
— the organization by virtue of which so many different 
visual images mean the same thing. For, let it be observed, 
however unequal the sides may be ' to the eye/ I see them 
equal. However oblique the angles may become in perspec- 
tive, I see them as right angles. 

The great superiority of the concept to the unorganized 
sensuous image rests upon its far greater stability. The image 
may vary within exceedingly wide limits, while the concept 
remains unmodified, and, whether for purposes of pure theory 
or for practical guidance, its efficiency is undisturbed. The 
cube, seen from whatever angle, is still a cube ; and it will 
not fit into a round hole. So it is with the sentiment. Our 
feelings with respect to all manner of things vary almost 
without limit from day to day or even from hour to hour. 
But our sentiments remain comparatively constant. The 
occupation which now fills me with enthusiasm, a few hours 
later bores me. If I were a little child, I should drop it im- 
mediately. If I do not, it is because my conduct is controlled 
by something more than a feeling of the moment — by a per- 
sistent sentiment organized by many years of habituation. 

Standards. — Something was said above (p. 302) with re- 
gard to the types of situations in which habitual preferences 
display themselves, and in which, accordingly, sentiments 
are experienced. What is preferred in typical situations is 
called a norm, or standard. Whatever conforms to the stand- 
ard is (in the most general sense of the term) right; what- 
ever fails to conform is wrong. Thus a printed wedding- 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 307 

card, a Democratic victory, a rhyme of ' human ' and 
1 common/ are right or wrong according to the standard 
that prevails. It is evident that the concept of a standard 
of right and wrong develops with the growth of the sentiment 
itself. It is, in fact, its intellectual content. 

Sentimental Feelings. — When feelings become organized 
into sentiments, — ' sentimental feelings ' we may call them 
then, — they themselves become modified in the process. 
One very common modification is the diminution of intensity. 
This fact has led some psychologists and ethicists (notably 
Hume) to regard sentiments as simply one class of feelings, 
distinguished from the other class (the passions) by their 
generally lower intensity. A more important modification, 
however, is the fusion of feelings into complex wholes. In- 
deed the loss of intensity is generally a mere incident to the 
fusion. Violent feelings do not easily fuse ; they rather ex- 
clude one another from consciousness. For example, the 
feelings belonging to the sublime generally contain an ele- 
ment of fear. But if the fear becomes intense, it occupies 
the whole of consciousness, and the effect of sublimity is de- 
stroyed. The storm at sea is sublime — to the man on shore. 
It may also be sublime to the ship's passenger, but not if 
he becomes sensible of imminent danger. In the same way 
an element of cruelty — the peculiar delight that comes 
from inflicting pain upon a helpless victim — is a common 
element in the feelings of the comic ; but if this element be- 
comes too strong, the comedy is lost in mere brutality How- 
ever, for many men the limit is a high one ; the cruelty must 
be great indeed before the comic effect is impaired. 

Feelings of Obligation. — When feelings of any kind are 
impelling men to action, and are resisted in their expression 
by contrary feelings, they are very apt to be greatly inten- 
sified, at least temporarily. When a sentimental feeling is 
thus resisted, it becomes what is called a feeling of obliga- 
tion. Obligations are thus of as many different kinds as 



308 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

sentiments, or as the habitual preferences of which senti- 
ments are the internal aspect. Thus they may be profes- 
sional, social, artistic, religious, moral, and so on. And 
these may conflict. The painter, for example, who is finish- 
ing a miniature, and whose eyes are heavy from the strain of 
months of close application, feels keenly the obligation not 
to let it go till he has made it as beautiful as his skill will per- 
mit. It may be that as a matter of business any further work 
upon the miniature will not pay. The patron is more than 
satisfied, and the public is little educated in such matters; 
so that the artist's reputation would not suffer if he dropped 
the thing at once. Now dollars and cents are not everything, 
but they are certainly something; and the painter feels a 
certain obligation not to neglect them. Besides, while he 
keeps making scarcely discernible strokes with tiny brushes, 
his family in the hot city are suffering for the outing which he 
cannot afford to give them. The tints on his little girl's 
cheek, as well as the tints in the miniature, have their impor- 
tance. 

Supremacy of Moral Obligations. — We have spoken of 
the manner in which the moral habits bring together the 
various departments of character into a unitary whole, har- 
monizing and controlling the conflicting tendencies. In 
terms of the feelings of obligation, this means that in the well- 
developed individual the moral obligations are supreme. 
Where these clash with obligations of other kinds, they are 
apt to supersede them ; where other obligations clash, a 
moral obligation arises and subordinates them to itself ; or, 
if not, the unity of character in so far breaks down. The 
moral obligation is thus, in a certain sense, the obligation of 
the man as a whole ; the others belong only to fractions of 
the man. Take the case of the painter above. He feels the 
obligations of the artist, the business man, the father of a 
family. It may be that these will continue to pull and haul 
him without decisive issue, or until some one overwhelms 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 309 

the others and remains in sole control. But if his is a well- 
organized personality, something different is likely to happen. 
His moral sentiments assert themselves, and he feels an obli- 
gation in which the others are at once included and subordi- 
nated. Some one (or some combination) of the inferior 
obligations is reenforced at the expense of the rest. Which 
one is thus distinguished, is a matter which the strength of 
the original feelings does not ordinarily affect. It is the 
moral sentiments of the man that decide the issue. It may 
be, for instance, that the monetary consideration strikes 
the painter as an ignoble temptation ; and that, as far as his 
family are concerned, if he leaves them the heritage of his 
fair name, the loss of a summer's vacation is of little concern. 
He ought to be true to his art. Or he may decide otherwise 
— that depends upon the man. 

Because of this normal supremacy of the moral obligations, 
they stand in common usage as the obligations, without need 
of qualifying adjective ; and the equivalent verb ' ought/ 
as well as the adjectives ' right ' and ' wrong/ also belong 
especially to the moral domain. 

Separation of Obligations : (1) In Business. — Lack of 
unity in character, as well as the unnatural dominance of 
character by one of its inferior aspects, may also be viewed to 
advantage in its effect upon the feelings of obligation. The 
division between business, on the one hand, and home, polite 
society, and religion, on the other hand, is a very common 
phenomenon. The phrase, ' Business is business/ implying 
that in this sphere no other than commercial obligations have 
any weight, is proverbial. Thus, for example, a retail mer- 
chant, who in the other relations of life is strictly truthful, 
and would regard a lie as ungentlemanly as well as immoral, 
does not hesitate to print lying advertisements of his goods ; 
or, if he does hesitate, it is because he is inclined to think that 
in the long run truthful advertising brings in better returns. 
Moral considerations are simply excluded. He would be 



310 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ashamed, let us say, not to give up his seat to a woman 
in a crowded street car ; but he keeps his clerks, men and 
women alike, standing for ten hours a day — or, if he gives 
them a chance to sit, it is pressure upon his pocketbook that 
makes him do it. At the same time, he would not let his wife 
assist him in the business in any capacity. Not that he 
doubts her ability. But she belongs to home and children. 
And, if business is business, it is none the less true that home 
is home. 

(2) In Art. — But perhaps the most striking illustrations 
of the divided personality and its separate obligations are 
to be found in the life of the artist, and especially in that of 
the poet or novelist. l Art for art's sake ' — in this field 
no other sentiments than those of the beautiful must have 
any but a subordinate place. If the demands, say, of realistic 
truth and those of morality seem to clash, morality must 
be firmly ruled out of the inclosure. Chaucer in his Canter- 
bury Tales tells some capital funny stories, certain of which 
have the defect of being (in many men's opinion, at any rate) 
shockingly immoral. He himself frankly acknowledges this, 
but, in his humorous way, insists that he could not have 
written otherwise. It is, for example, the Miller and the 
Reeve (in whose mouths two of the stories are placed) that 
are to blame. These are coarse men ; and he but repeats 
their stories as they told them. In plain prose, he writes 
only as a due and proper realism demands. If the interests 
of morality suffer thereby, so much the worse for morality. 
The interests of art are paramount here. 

Now appended to all the best manuscripts of Chaucer's 
poems is an earnest prayer to the public, not to read these 
tales. Literary critics of a certain sort have been free to con- 
demn this prayer as a monkish forgery; but so far as we 
are aware there is no sound reason for doubting its genuine- 
ness. Chaucer was a deeply moral man; and however 
thoroughly, in the enthusiasm of creation, he could persuade 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 311 

himself that art is its own sufficient excuse for being, the after- 
thought could not fail to arise, that human life is far more 
than art, and that the obligations of the poet are inferior to 
the obligations of the man. 

Compare the case of Scott's Ivanhoe. When this romance 
first appeared, a protest arose from thousands of readers, 
which has not yet wholly died out, that the hero ought not 
to have married the lady Rowena but the interesting Jewess 
Rebecca. In the preface which he published some years 
later, Scott justified his course in the matter. One would 
have expected him to urge aesthetic considerations, and no 
doubt he might have done so. But what he emphasizes is 
this : that a marriage between the young knight and the 
Jewess would have been untrue to life, and hence would have 
tended to give false ideas of the world to many young men and 
women — perhaps to their moral detriment. Even though, 
therefore, his story might have been improved, he was unwill- 
ing to improve it — at such a risk. 

For examples of the dominance of conduct by the aesthetic 
sentiments (as distinguished from their supremacy within 
a restricted field), we are accustomed to look to the Italian 
renaissance. Browning's The Bishop Orders his Tomb is a 
remarkable study of this type. Tennyson's Romney's Re- 
morse illustrates a different but closely allied phenomenon — 
the sacrifice of the closest of personal ties in order to realize 
more favorable conditions for aesthetic creation. 

IV. Valuation 
Orders of Preference. — One noteworthy consequence of 
the formation of stable sentiments is a certain classification, 
or rather ordering, of the contents of our world, according to 
the way in which they are preferred or rejected in comparison 
with each other. Things and their relations are good, bad, 
and indifferent; or, where a more elaborate division takes 
place, they may be excellent, very good, good, fair, tolerable, 



312 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

poor, bad, very bad, abominable, etc. ; and sometimes even a 
quantitative scale is developed, according to which one thing 
is, say, twice as good or three times as bad as another. The 
so-called ' null-point ' of indifference is fixed by our not caring 
whether a thing (or a relation) exists or not. 

Their Complexity. — There is not merely one such order. 
The orders are as various as the sentiments themselves. 
Where a consistent preference is impossible, the things are 
said not to be comparable. We do not ordinarily try to rank 
Shakespeare, Beethoven, and Titian, artists though they be ; 
nay, we should hardly try to compare the merits of Othello 
and Cymbeline, dramas though they be, and though they 
contain many elements that may well enough be compared. 
Nor would we be apt to weigh in the balance one man's cour- 
tesy against another man's wit. But the point is too obvious 
to be insisted upon. At the same time, the multitudinous 
orders of preference are not wholly distinct and independent. 
There are more comprehensive sentiments which connect 
them. We have wider as well as narrower standards of com- 
parison. There are occasions when we are called upon to 
compare courtesy and wit, or even one man's religious or- 
thodoxy with another's bank account ; and sentiments are 
formed by which our choice on such occasions is controlled. 
So that, after all, the many orders of preference do form one 
order, though a very ill-defined one ; whatever ultimate unity 
there is being largely due, generally speaking, to the most 
comprehensive class of sentiments, the moral sentiments. 

Valuation and Evaluation. — The process by which the ob- 
jects of our experience are thus grouped and ordered is called 
valuation, and the place which any object takes in the scale 
is called its value. Values are positive or negative, according 
as they stand above or below the null-point of indifference, 
to which the zero value corresponds. Valuation is thus some- 
thing more than merely liking or disliking things, or even 
than habitual preference. It is the formation of a system of 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 313 

concepts, the concepts of the various grades of valued objects. 
As a matter of fact, when a man is called upon to assign a 
given object to its proper place in the scale, — in other words, 
to form a judgment of value, or an evaluation, — the process 
is often a purely intellectual one. He observes that the 
thing is of a familiar type, which he remembers as being char- 
acteristic of objects of a certain grade; and he classifies it 
accordingly. Not that this is always the case. Sometimes 
the judgment is inspired by an actual present sentiment. 
Perhaps most often the judgment is partly dictated by senti- 
ment and partly by external marks. In any case, however, 
it must not be forgotten that, however large a part purely 
intellectual processes may play in the particular evaluation, 
it is only through sentimental feelings that the scale of values, 
upon which the judgment is based, has itself been built up. 

Judgments of these various kinds are familiar to us in all 
the different spheres of valuation. The marking of an ex- 
amination paper affords some apt illustrations. This may 
be done without any sentiment whatsoever — so many 
per cent off for each mistake. Or the examiner may have 
in his mind a certain body of facts which he expects each an- 
swer to contain ; and he may take off so many points for each 
omission. Every once in a while, however, he may have 
a feeling that the grade he has given is unjust, higher or 
lower than it should be ; and if this impression is strong 
enough, he disregards his formal estimate and alters the mark. 
Or the operation may be guided by active sentiments through- 
out — not so much a matter of counting as of weighing. 
Generally speaking, the better the criticism, the more fresh 
sentiment has gone into it. To trust to general criteria, 
without spontaneous feeling for the individual case, is to 
display a low order of judgment. 

Obligation and Values. — The relation of valuation to the 
feelings of obligation is very simple. One ought always to 
choose the more valuable in preference to the less valuable. 



314 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

It is an obligation of the merchant to buy as cheaply and sell 
as dearly as he can ; just as it is an obligation of the society 
woman to cultivate the ' best ' people, of the politician to 
nominate the most popular candidate, of the scholar to de- 
vote himself to the most significant problem, and so on. To 
get less than one might of any kind of good is in so far wrong, 
and can only be made right by becoming the condition of ob' 
taining a greater value of another kind. 

A Condition of the Subordination of Sentiments. — A 
noteworthy consequence of this relation is that in any com- 
plex situation, where one sentiment is subordinated to 
another, the possible values of the kind appreciated by the 
lower sentiment must be less than those appreciated by the 
higher sentiment. Poe, in his account of the writing of The 
Raven, tells us that if any of the earlier stanzas of the poem 
had turned out " more vigorous " than that which contains the 
climax, he would " without scruple have purposely enfeebled 
them." Now if, in the writing of a poem, one's feeling for 
the beauty of stanzaic rhythm is to be subordinated to the 
sense of the climacteric effect of the whole, it must be possible 
to make the poem better by insisting on the climax than it 
could be made by letting each stanza have its own maximum 
rhythmical value. This does not [necessarily mean that in 
every poetic composition the details ought to be subordinated 
to the whole — though Poe, indeed, thought so. Sometimes 
the general structure may be a mere excuse for bringing 
together the details. What we are urging is simply that 
when the poet is under obligation to subordinate the details, 
he must be able to make the poem in hand a better poem 
thereby. 

The Range of Moral Values. — This principle applies most 
strikingly to the most comprehensive sentiments and the 
supreme obligations: the moral. It means that in any 
situation the possible moral values are greater than any 
others with which they there conflict — or, if this is not the 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 315 

case, the moral sentiments fail to perform their proper func- 
tion. And if (as seems probable) the complexity of human 
life is such that there is no non-moral value which may not 
in some situation conflict with a moral value, it follows that 
for the well-organized individual the moral values are capable 
of higher degrees than any others. 

When different scales of values are combined in one, it is 
generally to be observed that the highest positive values 
and the lowest negative values belong together. Greater 
potentialities of beauty, for example, go with greater poten- 
tialities of ugliness. If the best tragedies stand upon a level 
which comedy cannot reach, the worst tragedies sink to 
depths of dullness and brutality which the worst comedies 
cannot approach. And similarly, if good breeding is more 
desirable than good birth, ill breeding is a greater defect than 
lowly birth. This applies to the relation of the moral values 
to all others. Just as, in common estimation, virtue is capa- 
ble of heights to which no other type of good can be exalted, 
so vice is capable of depths to which no other type of evil can 
descend. 

V. The Value of a Sum of Things 
Addition of Values. — When the values of a number of 
things belong to the same scale, and the scale is a quantified 
one, the value of the collection as a whole is, as a general 
rule, simply the (algebraic) sum of the values of the several 
things. This is illustrated by economic values, and, again, 
by the credit marks on a student's examination paper. Six 
points in each of ten questions means sixty points on the 
whole. 

Addition generally Impossible. — It is, however, only ex- 
ceptionally that a scale of values is quantified. It is far more 
apt to be like a scale of intensities — the scale of the intensi- 
ties of warmth and cold, for example. The sensations may 
be arranged in an ordered series, with a null-point of in- 



316 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

sensibility in the middle. But one warmth cannot be twice 
as intense as another, or equal to the sum or difference of two 
others ; and it is only very roughly that we can say that a 
warmth is as intense as a given cold. So it is, we repeat, with 
most scales of value. One painting is more beautiful than 
another ; but it scarcely makes sense to say that it is twice as 
beautiful, or that its beauty is equal to the sum of the beauties 
of two others. We must, then, be careful to avoid the error 
of assuming that the value of a sum of things is necessarily 
a sum. It generally is not, even though the values all belong 
to the same scale. 

It is true, indeed, that the value of such a sum is generally 
greater than the value of any of the particular things ; but 
there are exceptions even to this. The value of Coleridge's 
poetry would be in no wise diminished if three fourths of his 
verses had never been written, though none of them are en- 
tirely without merit. A very few are so much better than the 
rest that the latter shrivel into insignificance beside them. 

Subordination of Sentiments Involved. — But we are 
often called upon to value combinations of values of widely 
different kinds. The young woman that hesitates between 
two suitors does this. And the distinguished lawyer who 
hesitates before accepting an appointment to the bench must 
do this also. Consider some of the factors in the latter 
situation. As a lawyer he earns ten times the amount of the 
judge's salary; and this larger income provides many ad- 
vantages for himself and his family. He is to a considerable 
extent free in the choice of his interests and activities, while 
the judge is bound to his calendar. But the appointment is 
a great honor, and brings with it a great increase of power — 
power which is attractive both in itself and as a means of 
public service. Now, of course, either the young woman or 
the lawyer may be carried away by passion, and may choose 
even without coming to any conclusion as to the comparative 
merits of the case. But if a conclusion is reached and an 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 317 

evaluation is effected, it is obvious that some correlation and 
subordination of sentiments is involved, such as we have al- 
ready studied. 

Happiness. — In like manner a whole condition of life may 
be recognized as having a value. This value, positive or 
negative, is called ' happiness ' or ' unhappiness.' (We have 
in English no word that covers both. In Greek irpdiis is 
used in this sense.) These conceptions involve no new 
theoretical difficulties ; but it is obvious that so complex a 
synthesis cannot possess any high degree of accuracy. It is 
often difficult for a man to decide whether he is happy or not, 
not to speak of deciding how happy or how unhappy. And 
yet such decisions play an important part in the conduct of 
life. 

The Greatest Happiness. — The ideal of the greatest 
happiness (bonum consummatum) is the combination of all 
the good things in life, so far as they are compatible with each 
other ; where they are incompatible, the worse being sacri- 
ficed for the better. Needless to say, this ideal changes 
greatly with change of character, and is at all times exceed- 
ingly vague. It contains elements of widely different nature, 
each of which is open to wide variation ; for example, physi- 
cal health, a certain standard of living, affectionate relations 
with wife and children, social success, a good conscience. 
Sometimes a single element, such as a woman's love or a 
great fortune, outweighs all the rest. The man believes that 
if he had this one thing, nothing else would matter much. 
Such a valuation (when it persists) is, of course, indicative of 
a very one-sided character. The normal man includes in his 
ideal of the greatest happiness a great number and variety 
of elements. Among these a good moral character is bound 
to have an important place ; for, as we recall, it is the habit- 
ual ascendancy of the moral sentiments that is the essential 
condition of unity of character — that is to say, of the har- 
monization of one's desires for different things. 



318 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The Essentials of Happiness. — Men also form conceptions 
of what they regard as essential to happiness — that without 
which they would necessarily be unhappy. These concep- 
tions also vary greatly from man to man. And here again, 
in the estimation of normal men, a good moral character has 
an important place. The habitual ascendancy which the 
moral sentiments have in their minds makes it impossible for 
them to conceive of happiness with the moral values left out. 

VI. Virtue and Happiness 

Two Considerations. — On the basis of the above account 
of the place and function of the moral sentiments, can any- 
thing definite be said with regard to the question from which 
we set out, the question of the sufficiency of morality as a 
condition of happiness? There are here two distinct con- 
siderations to be borne in mind : (1) the relation in which 
morality stands to the other elements in happiness ; and 
(2) the estimate that is due the moral values as such — the 
value of a good or a bad conscience. 

1. Indirect Value of Morality 

Immorality Prevents Content. — In the first place, as we 
have so often had to repeat, the supremacy of the moral sen- 
timents in deciding the issues of life is a general condition 
of the harmonization and unification of our desires. But 
where desires are not unified every important choice contains 
the seeds of disappointment. From this point of view it 
appears obvious that while the moral man may often be un- 
happy, the immoral man can scarcely avoid a great deal of 
unhappiness. He is well-nigh doomed to a deep and abiding 
discontent. 

The Contraction of Life. — We have admitted, to be sure, 
that in an exceptional case some other class of sentiments 
(the aesthetic, for example) may perform the work of unifi- 
cation. In such a case, as we have pointed out, the other 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 319 

sides of a man's nature are of necessity starved and stunted. 
This means, of course, that numerous sources of happiness 
are cut off. Hence it is probable, that, even though upon the 
one abnormally developed side an unusual sensibility to its 
peculiar values may arise, the possibility of happiness on the 
whole is seriously reduced. At the same time, however, the 
possibilities of unhappiness are similarly reduced. The man 
who could not rejoice at a victory does not sorrow at a de- 
feat. From this point of view, then, we cannot say that such 
an exceptionally immoral man is probably less happy than 
a moral man. We can only say, somewhat as we would say 
in comparing a brute and a man, that the former has less 
capacity for both happiness and unhappiness. What fur- 
ther conclusion is drawn from these premises depends, of 
course, upon our optimistic or pessimistic attitude toward 
life in general. If, as a general rule, life is worth living, — 
if, to point the question, it is better to live the wider life of 
a man than the narrower life of a brute, — then it is better to 
be a good man than a mere aesthete. 

Effects of Isolation. — A similar conclusion may be reached 
when we recall to mind what was said in the last chapter 
with regard to the social significance of morality. Morality, 
we there found, is an essential condition of social intercourse, 
and, in particular, of the communication of sentiments, from 
man to man. Immorality, therefore, means so much isola- 
tion, means the being cut off to a greater or less extent from 
the common interests and occupations of one's fellows. Now 
in most bad men this undoubtedly gives rise to considerable 
unhappiness. They cannot help yearning for the society 
from which they find themselves excluded. In the extreme 
case of the thoroughly abnormal individual, who cares little 
for any other society than that of those who share his own 
narrow interests and who are bound to him through these 
interests alone — in this extreme case, life simply proceeds 
upon a smaller scale. A vast multitude of joys and sorrows 



320 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

are alike unfelt. The possibilities of happiness and of unhap- 
piness are reduced together. 

The Winning of Sympathy. — There is another considera- 
tion, however, that points more decisively to the advantage of 
the better balanced moral man. The ability to sympathize 
is a potent means of gaining sympathy. The man whose 
one-sided development deprives him of interest in his fellows 
loses their good will and hearty cooperation. Whatever 
ills come to him, he has the greater chance of bearing their 
full brunt, even if he escapes active enmity. And however 
powerful he may be, he cannot compel or purchase the loving 
consideration upon which many of life's most substantial 
charms depend. 

2. Direct Value of Morality 

Moral Values as Such. — But aside from the indirect value 
of morality as a condition for the attainment of the other 
goods of life, it has a peculiar value of its own, which is appre- 
ciated by the moral sentiments themselves. It may be that 
in origin these two kinds of value are closely connected to- 
gether ; but as elements in the happiness of the individual 
they are so distinct as to require a separate appraisement. 
Every sane man feels and believes that it is worth something 
just to be good ; and we have to consider how far this condi- 
tion may compensate for the various ills of life. 

Their Relative Magnitude. — Now, in the first place, we 
are confronted by the fact, that moral values, like values of 
other kinds, vary on both sides of the null-point of indiffer- 
ence. It is not a single value, or a pair of opposite values, 
but a whole range of values that we are called upon to place. 
Sometimes moral teachers have urged that any positive moral 
value, however low in the scale, is greater than any value 
whatsoever of any other kind. Such a statement does not 
ring true. It seems to express a species of fanaticism. And 
when we look for evidence in its support, we find none. For 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 321 

the plain fact of the matter is that such a comparison as the 
formula suggests cannot be performed. We have no mental 
machinery for performing it. What does appear to be true 
is that (for reasons above given) in any particular situation 
the possible moral values must be greater than any other 
values with which they come in opposition. 

Let us take an illustration. A Jew, walking though a 
field of grain on a Saturday, feels hungry. To pluck a few 
ears and thereby satisfy his hunger is a breach of a rule to 
which a powerful moral sentiment attaches. The question 
arises whether it is better for him to observe the rule or to 
eat. But this itself is a moral question. For in order to 
bring together and compare values of diverse kinds, a more 
comprehensive sentiment is necessary ; and where a moral 
value is concerned, only a moral sentiment can do this. If 
the function is usurped by a sentiment of any lower kind, the 
moral value in question is simply neglected and left out of 
account. Hence, to return to our illustration, a decision that 
it is better to eat is equivalent to a decision that in the case 
in hand the strict observance of the Sabbath would be im- 
moral ; and to pluck and eat becomes a moral obligation. 
The conflict is removed. If, on the contrary, the decision is 
that it is better to follow the rule, the man's hunger is not 
thereby stilled and the conflict persists. But the moral value 
now is not simply that of obedience to the rule. It is that 
of obedience to the rule despite urgent temptation to break it. 
The value of right conduct is not only judged to be superior, 
but it is enhanced by the act of judgment itself, and enhanced 
in proportion to the conflicting value which is foregone. 

General Conclusion. — Putting this conclusion with the 
former one (as to the indirect effects of morality upon happi- 
ness), we may say that morality is an exceedingly important 
factor in the production of happiness, doubtless the most 
important ; that good men have far greater chances of happi- 
ness than bad men. Does this leave no room for individual 



322 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

exceptions? Certainly it does. A man's character in gen- 
eral and his moral character in particular may well be the 
most important condition of happiness. But there are num- 
berless other contributing factors — all that goes together 
under the inclusive name of good or evil 'fortune'; and 
nothing that we have said warrants the conclusion that a 
good man cannot be unhappy, or a bad man happy. Moral- 
ity and immorality are matters of degree ; and how far either 
can go in counterbalancing the effects of extraordinary ex- 
ternal conditions we have no means of determining with any 
assurance. We can only say that under any external condi- 
tions, the better a man is the happier he is at all times likely 
to be ; and in a lifetime of ordinary length the total likeli- 
hood amounts to a practical certainty. 

A simple illustration may help to make this point clear. 
The most important conditions for success in agriculture are, 
let us say, skill and industry in the farmer, a fertile soil, 
and a fair rainfall. The better farmer with the better farm 
has every chance of having the better crop. But in any 
particular year he may not. A stroke of lightning or a spark 
from a passing engine may undo all his toil. The sciences 
that deal with human affairs can never make universal 
predictions that exclude the possibility of exceptions. 
They must be content, as Aristotle said, to set forth the 
important general tendencies — what is true for the most 
part (ra <J)s €tu to ttoXv). It does not lie within the scope 
of ethics to guarantee any man happiness. 

The Universal Policy. — It is to be observed that the su- 
premacy of moral obligations is not here called in question, 
any more than the farmer's obligation to cultivate his 
fields to the best of his ability is called in question when we 
admit the possibility of the unpredictable and unescapable 
lightning stroke. We must guide our lives according to that 
which we expect and by means of that which is within our 
control. The supreme practical problem is not, What 



CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 323 

condition, if it were possible, would insure happiness? but 
What mode of conduct is most favorable to happiness? A 
supernatural revelation, "which promises eventual happiness 
to all good men, may greatly strengthen the hearts of those 
who accept it ; but it cannot alter the content of a single 
moral obligation. 

The Single Act and the Persistent Character. — In con- 
clusion, there is one ancient and frequently revived miscon- 
ception that must be noticed. When we ask ourselves 
whether Regulus was the happier for going back to torture 
and death at Carthage — whether a less scrupulous man 
would not soon have soothed the pangs of conscience 
and lived on in perfect comfort — we should not forget the 
deeper question : Is it likely that Regulus, being the sturdy 
patriot that he was, got more or less out of life as a whole 
than he would have gotten had he been of poorer moral 
fiber ? Had the very traits of character that made it impos- 
sible for him to advise his people to their hurt — had these 
traits throughout his life made him more or less capable of 
enjoying the glories of that country for which at last he 
died ? It is one thing to say that a particular good act has 
brought misery upon the doer. It is another thing to say 
that the persistent character behind the act has on the whole 
contributed to the man's unhappiness. 

REFERENCES 
Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II, Ch. II. ; Book III, 

Ch. I, 171-179. 
Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. II, Sects. I-III ; Chs. VIII, X, XL 
Taylor, A. E., Problem of Conduct, Ch. III. 
Mackenzie, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book I. 
Irons, D., Psychology of Ethics. 

Shand, A. F., Character and the Emotions, in Mind, N. S., Vol. V. 
Stout, G. F., Groundwork of Psychology, Ch. XVII. 
McDougall, W., Social Psychology, Ch. V. 
Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chs. IV, V. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS AND THE 
OBJECTIVITY OF VALUES 

I. Introduction 

The Social Factor in Character Formation. — In the fore- 
going account of character, sentiment, and value, we have 
limited ourselves, as far as possible, to the standpoint of 
individual psychology. We have studied these phenomena 
as if they pertained to a single mind, leaving out of account 
the influence of one mind upon another. This was to com- 
mit an enormous abstraction, to omit from consideration 
the very features of the phenomena which are of most 
illuminating significance. Now an abstraction is not an 
error ; and in every exposition of a complex subject one 
must begin by an abstraction of one sort or another. But 
to leave an abstraction unsupplemented is indeed error, 
and error of the most dangerous kind. 

In treating of the development of character, we observed 
that it is the pleasant or painful consequences of action that 
determine the formation of an habitual preference ; and we 
noted in passing that the attitude of other men toward the 
act is one factor that goes to determine whether the conse- 
quences are on the whole pleasant or unpleasant. It is 
the influence of this factor that must now occupy our atten- 
tion. 

Sympathy: Pride and Shame. — Among the various 
ways in which we may be affected by the feelings of others, 
there are two which are of especial importance for ethical 
theory. In the first place, we may sympathize; that is to 

324 



v 



\ 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 325 

say, when we perceive the situation in which the other per- 
sons stand and the outward expressions of their feelings, 
similar feelings tend to arise in us. 1 It is probable that any- 
feeling whatsoever may in some degree be communicated 
or strengthened by sympathy, though some are much more 
communicable than others. In the second place we are 
sensitive to their expressions of admiration (or respect) and 
contempt for ourselves, which awaken in us the responsive 
feelings of pride and shame. This is not a mere case of sym- 
pathy, though sympathy may be involved ; because admira- 
tion and contempt are very different qualitatively from the 
pride and humility that are awakened. 

II. The Excitation of Sympathy 

(1) The Direct-action Theory. — The process by which 
sympathetic feelings are aroused has been eagerly studied 
by psychologists and ethicists, and a variety of theories 
have been offered in explanation of it. Some have held 
that our inherited psychophysical structure is such that the 
perception of the signs of emotion in others directly produces 
similar emotions in us. There is no doubt some truth in 
this. What we sometimes call ' instinctive sympathy ' is no 
doubt thus to be explained. The sympathy which our ani- 
mal pets show for us must generally be caused in this way ; 
for they can seldom have any notion of the situation in which 
we stand. It is, however, to be observed that when feelings 
are thus directly aroused by the expression of others' feel- 
ings, the former need not be similar to the latter at all, or, 
if similar, need not be directed toward the same objects (e.g. 
they may be reciprocal). Thus anger may give rise to fear, 
or to anger against the angry person. A baby that cannot 
yet understand a single word, and has never in his whole 

1 The student should note that in ethics the word ' sympathy ' is used in 
its etymological significance : to feel with another, whether in joy or in grief. 
It is not a synonym for 'pity.' 



326 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

life been cruelly used, cries when I speak to him in a threat- 
ening tone of voice. Thus we see that the direct stimula- 
tion of feelings by the expressions of feelings in others may 
or may not be sympathetic. Instinctive sympathy is 
thus but one sort of case of a far more general phenomenon 
— the awakening of emotion by the signs of emotion in 
others — and is remarkable only for the special circumstance 
that the stimulus is more or less like the response. 1 

Criticism. — But it is evident that most human sympathy 
is of a more intricate nature than this. Thus it has been 
remarked that to see some one angry at some one else, when 
we are not aware of the cause, has little or no tendency to 
move us to sympathetic anger. The signs of anger interest 
us, and we look to see the why and wherefore; but it is 
only when we have seen the situation that we begin to be angry 
ourselves. And though the signs of deep grief or suffering 
may easily affect us when we do not understand the occasion, 
our sympathy is apt to be greatly increased when we are 
enlightened. On the other hand, when we are unable to 
perceive any expression of emotion at all, but the situa- 
tion is one in which we cannot imagine a man existing with- 
out his feeling some emotion, our sympathy may be even 
greater than it would be if his cries of joy or grief were ring- 
ing in our ears. 

(2) The Substitution Theory. — Now just what part does 
the knowledge of the situation play in the matter? It 
has been widely held that in order to sympathize we must 
' put ourselves in the other man's place ' — imagine ourselves 
enjoying or enduring what he enjoys or endures. Various 
evidences have been adduced in support of this theory, and 

1 It is much the same with the so-called instinctive imitation. The act of 
pecking in a young chick is aroused in various ways : by the sight of a small 
moving object ; also by the sound of his mother's pecking. When the latter 
is the stimulus, we call the act imitative, because the chick is doing what its 
mother does ; but the phenomenon is very different from the attentive, dis- 
criminating imitation of a child. 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 327 

the usages of common speech are obviously in accordance 
with it. " When we see a stroke aimed and just about to 
fall upon the leg or arm of another person, we naturally 
shrink and draw back our own leg or our own arm ; and when 
it does fall, we feel it in some measure, and are hurt by it 
as well as the sufferer. The mob, when they are gazing at 
a dancer on the slack rope, naturally writhe and twist and 
balance their own bodies, as they see him do, and as they 
feel that they themselves must do if in his situation." * 
Furthermore, in so far as lack of experience or the peculiar 
circumstances of one's life make it difficult or impossible 
for one to imagine himself in the given situation, sympathetic 
feeling is greatly weakened. The rich of the third genera- 
tion — those who have inherited wealth which they have not 
seen their fathers earn — are seldom charitably inclined. 

Criticism. — This theory is a very useful one, because it 
accords well with the conditions under which sympathetic 
emotion arises. But it is a misinterpretation of our experi- 
ence, and careful introspection at once refutes it. It is 
very seldom indeed that we imagine ourselves in another 
man's place. We see him struck and we quiver at the blow. 
But this is not imagination. It is a real quiver, and it is 
directly aroused by the sight of the blow ; and it forms one 
of the elements into which our perception of the other man's 
experience may be analyzed. We do not first see the blow, 
then imagine the smart, and then shrink away. We see 
and shrink; and instead of imagining pain we really feel 
the disagreeable tension into which our bodies have been 
thrown. And in so far as imagination enters into the experi- 
ence it is his condition we imagine, not a supposed condi- 
tion of our own. The sympathetic observer is not think- 
ing of himself at all. To be sure he does feel very much as 
if he were in the other man's place, but not because he imag- 
ines himself there. 

1 Adam Smith, Theory of the Moral Sentiments, Part I, Sect. I, Ch. I. 



328 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

(3) Emotions Arise from the Situations as Such. — How- 
ever defective this substitution theory may be, it is doubt- 
less right in emphasizing the part that the perception of the 
situation plays in exciting sympathetic feeling. But the 
true explanation of the phenomenon is probably much sim- 
pler. Our emotions are not in the beginning so self-centered 
as is often supposed. They attach rather to the situations 
as such than to ourselves as the center of the situations. We 
are afraid, let us say, to cross a field where a bull is at large ; 
but the resulting situation is terrible in itself and not simply 
as our situation. Why, then, do we feel it so much more 
keenly when we ourselves are running the danger? In the 
first place, we may not. Our terror may be immeasurably 
less than it would be if it were a wife or child that was in 
peril. A person in whom we had less interest otherwise 
would of course give less interest to the situation as a whole ; x 
and if the course of our mental development has been such 
as to make us so self-centered that we are deeply interested 
in nobody but ourselves, then most assuredly our capacity 
must be very limited. Even a hearty hatred (if there were 
no actual anger at the moment) would be more favorable to 
sympathy than this. But, in the second place, if we do feel 
greater fear for ourselves, that is largely because when we 
are the center of the situation, we are generally in a better 
position to be impressed by it. For example, the nearness 
of the charging animal, the noise of his hoofs, the sense of 
his impending bulk, are large factors in our terror of the 
bull. 

Conclusion. — If we are right, sympathy is of two kinds : 
first, the direct excitation of feeling by the perception of the 
signs of like feeling in another ; and, secondly, the excitation 
of feeling by the perception of the situation in which another 
stands. However, in common experience the two kinds of 

1 It must not be forgotten that the person in danger is an essential part 
of the situation. If he were not present, the situation would not exist. 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 329 

sympathy are not clearly distinguishable. On the one hand, 
the other man's expressions of feeling help us to compre- 
hend the situation. If he were insensible (or, rather, if we 
felt him to be insensible), the situation would disappear, just 
as it would if the man himself were snatched away. On the 
other hand, to perceive the general situation often helps 
to fix our attention upon the expressions of feeling, or even 
causes us to imagine them; and in this way the effect may 
be greatly heightened. 1 

III. Admiration and Contempt, Pride and Shame 
Pre-human Origin. — So much for the theory of sym- 
pathy. We need speak only briefly of the feelings of admira- 
tion and contempt, and pride and shame. These are very 
ancient feelings. They are, in fact, pre-human in origin, 
as is shown by their being found in many of the higher ani- 
mals ; with this difference, to be sure, that in the animals 
they are occasioned only by a narrow range of natural stimuli, 
while in us they may be awakened by almost anything good 
or bad with which any one can be associated. 

Interrelations. — The four feelings stand in a peculiar 
rectangular relation to one another. Pride and shame are 
opposites, and so are admiration and contempt. One feels 
pride (or shame) on account of the same things in or belong- 
ing to oneself, as arouse admiration (or contempt) when they 
are found in or belonging to another. We are in some degree 
moved to admiration or contempt for a man by anything 
connected with him that arouses our feelings of approval 
or disapproval, i.e. that strikes us as being in any way good 
or bad. Any notable quality of mind or body, any external 
advantage or defect, will serve. And similarly we are stim- 

1 The above account deals explicitly only with emotion that is felt for 
another. But it can be applied without difficulty to the stimulation or 
strengthening of emotion that is felt on one's own account. The cry of 
fear is itself fear-inspiring ; and furthermore it forcibly draws our attention 
to the particular danger in which we too may stand. 



330 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

ulated to pride or shame by any such quality or circum- 
stance connected with ourselves. 

Furthermore, pride is easily awakened or strengthened 
by the perception of another's admiration ; and this relation 
also holds between shame and contempt ; in fact, in secret 
concerns, where admiration and contempt are out of the 
question, pride and shame are seldom intense. Pride might 
almost be described as the expectation of admiration, and 
shame as the expectation of contempt. For these and simi- 
lar reasons it has sometimes been held that admiration and 
contempt are of earlier origin. It seems, however, that if 
the one admired or despised were not in some way susceptible 
to being influenced by the fact, the emotion would have 
much less excuse for being. The probability therefore is that 
the four emotions have grown up together. At any rate, 
they are all far older than humanity. 

The Exaggeration of Values. — A point which is of especial 
importance for ethical theory is this : that pride or shame, 
when once aroused, reacts powerfully upon our estimate of 
the thing or quality to which it attaches. To feel pride in 
anything is to feel its excellence with redoubled intensity; 
to be mortified because of it is to be doubly conscious of its 
shortcomings. This does not mean that a man necessarily 
thinks better of a thing because it is his own. Some men do 
have a tendency in this direction; but many others show 
just the opposite tendency. But any man thinks decidedly 
better or worse of a thing through which his self-respect has 
been flattered or hurt. 

IV. The Education of the Sentiments 

Operation of the Social Factor. — It is easy to see how 
sympathy affects the formation of sentiments. It makes 
of them not so much individual affairs as common possessions 
of the social group. Every peculiarly individual tendency 
to feeling is discouraged. Every tendency that is in accord 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 331 

with the sentiments of one's companions is exaggerated. 
The effect on each occasion may be slight ; but for most 
men the process is incessant throughout their whole lives, 
and its shaping influence is not to be escaped. 

Similar, but much intensified, is the effect of admiration 
and contempt. 

The Determination of the Environment. — Before the 
education of the individual begins the sentiments of other 
men have already done much to shape and select the environ- 
ment in which he is to live and grow. The objects by which 
he is surrounded have almost without exception been changed 
or moved in response to some one's valuation. And the 
human environment, the characters of men and institu- 
tions, are tissues of sentiments. The individual's experi- 
ence is thus from the beginning a select one ; and the stand- 
ards which he forms must be built up from the material 
with which existing standards have provided him. He can- 
not choose his world. It has been chosen for him. He may 
have his peculiar preferences ; but their range is limited from 
the outset by the preferences of others. 

The Contact of Tastes. — But even in the environment 
thus provided the individual's preferences are not due to 
his inherited constitution alone, or to his own experience 
of the qualities of men and things. At every turn he has 
impressed upon him the feelings of his associates. He is 
constantly the witness of their likes and dislikes, and is 
moved to sympathetic likes and dislikes himself. And, more 
than that, the likes and dislikes of others are manifested 
toward himself and all that is connected with him, and the 
powerful influence of pride and shame is thus thrown in 
the direction of the common sentiment. 

How Sentiments are ' Communicated.' — We speak else- 
where of the ' communication of sentiments.' The phrase 
is useful ; but from our present standpoint we can see how 
inexact, or at least compressed, it is. A sentiment is not 



332 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

communicated as a whole. It must grow up in each man 
under the influence of his associates. 1 An example may be 
taken from the aesthetic sentiments. There is no direct 
means by which one man can impart to another his taste 
in singing. He may sing to him, or take him where songs 
can be heard; and he can express to him his own varying 
appreciation of the composition and rendering. And when 
the pupil asks for a song or criticizes it, or (better still) sings 
it or composes it himself, the teacher can express his approval 
or disapproval of the choice, the criticism, the performance, 
the creation. In this way the pupil grows into the likeness 
of his master, and becomes, as we say, a typical member of 
his ' school/ If such a process as this is fairly to be called 
the ' communication ' of sentiments, we may let the phrase 
stand. At any rate we have no right to mean anything more 
by it. 

Analogy of the Concept. — The like is true of the communi- 
cation of concepts, and the analogy may perhaps again be 
of service to us. No man can directly impart a concept, 
whether it be the concept of a particular thing or of a type 
of things. All that can be done is to provide a certain envi- 
ronment and to direct attention to the important features 
of the resulting experience. The organization of images 
into concepts is a process the necessity of which in each indi- 
vidual mind cannot be obviated, though by appropriate 
suggestions it can be spared many useless deviations. This 
is the essential function of the teacher. And yet, limited 
as this function at each moment appears, its gross results 

1 In the last two chapters we have given two strikingly different accounts 
of the function of morality. First it was the essential condition of social 
unity; then it was the essential condition of unity of character. We can 
now understand how these two functions are combined. It is through social 
intercourse that the human personality grows. The rupture of that inter- 
course on any side means inevitably an arrested development on that side — 
either malcoordination or downright atrophy. Hence it is that only the 
supremacy of the moral sentiments can insure a well-rounded personality. 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 333 

are very great. The little boy of two does not even recognize 
a policeman; and yet some day he and his father may be 
gravely discussing such topics as the attitude of socialism 
toward the institution of private property ! 

Individual and Social Differences. — In what we have said 
we must not be understood to imply that individual differences 
in sentiments (or in concepts) do not exist among members 
of the same social group. They do, of course, as we are all 
well aware. But where men's sentiments have been formed 
by the same tradition, the greatest individual differences 
are small, compared with differences that are common 
between representatives of different traditions. A lover of 
Wagner and a lover of Meyerbeer may fancy themselves 
at opposite poles of the musical world ; but, if so, they little 
know how wide that world is. They are next-door neigh- 
bors when it comes to a comparison with a Japanese critic. 
Yes, and greatly as the Japanese musicians may differ among 
themselves they will all look alike to the student from Paris 
or Vienna; they are so far away that they show but as a 
single point. The differences within the limits of a common 
musical tradition (like the differences within a common 
religion) appear striking to us, because they bring us into 
active opposition with one another. But, as a matter of 
fact, it is only because there is a large fund of sentiments 
shared between us that opposition is possible. And besides, 
when we seek to compare individual differences with social 
differences we must not forget a point that is emphasized 
in another chapter : that there are societies upon societies 
within societies. The lover of Wagner and the lover of 
Meyerbeer, who cleave to the one and despise the other, 
may very well have had characteristically different individual 
bents from the start. But though they are both inheritors 
of a common European tradition, the family and local in- 
fluences under which they have been brought up will prob- 
ably account for most of the contrast between them. 



334 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Social Character of the Sentiments. — The consequence 
is that it is possible to give a connected and intelligent ac- 
count of the analysis and development of important classes 
of human sentiments without paying any attention to indi- 
vidual peculiarities at all — except, perhaps, to brand them 
as peculiarities and set them aside as of no interest to the 
discussion. In such an account the individual is not re- 
garded as a cause; he appears only as a more or less typical 
illustration of social conditions. There is inevitable inexact- 
ness, no doubt, in this sort of procedure. The individual 
is a cause, as well as an illustration. But every large view 
must be had at the cost of inaccuracy of detail ; and our 
natural human interest in striking personalities is so great, 
that the danger that lies in overlooking the importance of 
individual differences is far less likely to be serious than the 
danger of overestimating them. 

For, indeed, a developed sentiment is almost beyond indi- 
vidual control. It seems so impalpable, so shadowy a thing, 
that many a bold innovator has thought that he could banish 
it at a word. But his words and his blows and his tears 
leave scarcely a trace upon it. The chances are that in 
his own heart of hearts, in depths of his nature beyond his 
introspection, he is as much subject to it as any one; and 
in some sudden crisis he is astonished at his ' weakness/ 
He believes, let us say, in free love — is outraged at the 
thought of a legal or religious marriage. But despite him- 
self he makes an exception of his daughter's case, and feels 
surprisingly relieved when she is united in the conventional 
way to the young man of her choice. 

Summary. — To resume : Among the factors which go 
to determine the development of character and sentiments, 
the feelings of one's associates have a commanding place. 
Sentiments are not directly communicated; but by means 
of sympathy and the excitation of pride and shame they are 
constrained to develop in each individual in general con- 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 335 

formity with the sentiments of those around him. They 
thus present the appearance of being a social rather than an 
individual function. 

The Moral Sentiments. — In all this no special mention 
has been made of the moral sentiments. This was by design, 
with the thought that by not referring to them in particular 
we might emphasize the fact that in these respects there is 
nothing peculiar about them. For they, too, are ' com- 
municated ' by the instrumentality of sympathy, reenforced 
by pride and shame ; and the uniformity of sentiment that 
results is so great that it has often been explained as due 
to inborn human nature. If the moral sentiments call for 
any special remark, it is that they exhibit the social control 
of sentiment-formation at its highest intensity. The sugges- 
tions are, as a rule, more frequent and more forcible than 
in any other department, especially during the formative 
period of life. The moral character of each individual is 
constantly finding expression in action by which the atten- 
tion of his companions is attracted, and their approval or 
disapproval aroused; and hence any divergence from the 
accepted type stands the greater change of being promptly 
suppressed. 

V. The Objectivity of Values 

Values as Relative to the Individual. — We must now 
look to see what effect the social nature of the sentiments 
has upon valuation in general and upon moral valuation in 
particular. In our previous treatment, we have looked upon 
values as relative to the individual character. As habitual 
preferences are formed, the objects of preference are sorted 
out and given a serial order; and their place in the series 
is their value. To be very good is to belong to a type that 
has been ranked high ; to be excellent is to belong to a type 
that has been ranked still higher — the ranking being a 
function of the individual consciousness. From this point 



336 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of view, what is good with reference to one man may well 
be bad with reference to another, not because of any difference 
in its effects upon the two men, but because of some differ- 
ence in their character-development. Now this view is not 
wholly false, and we shall have occasion to return to it ; but 
it needs serious supplementation. 

Values as Relative to the Society. — Since, despite indi- 
vidual variations, sentiments are, in the main, social func- 
tions, it follows that values are, in the main, relative not to 
individuals but to societies. Polite and impolite, beautiful 
and ugly, just and unjust, cheap and dear, are not subject 
to personal desires — even though, of course, if all personal 
desires were taken away the values would be gone also. 
They are superindividual, and hence objective; that is to 
say, they stand to each man as a reality outside himself, 
by which his judgments may be criticized as true or false. 
His own subjective scale of values is, so far as it is his own, 
regarded as a mere representation (which may be more or 
less accurate) of the real values of things. That he con- 
gratulates himself upon his deportment may not prevent 
his being utterly ' impossible ' ; that he adores Meyerbeer 
does not prove that that composer was a genius ; that he 
condemns the acquisition of California may still leave it an 
amply justified piece of statecraft ; and his satisfaction 
with his new suit of clothes may simply indicate how thor- 
oughly he was cheated. 

Are Values Subjective or Objective? — We are thus 
brought to the consideration of one of the good old paradoxes 
that has formed the staple of so much controversy, popular 
as well as learned. From one point of view nothing seems 
more obvious than the subjectivity of values. " There's 
nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so " — 
is not this true? " There's no disputing about tastes" — 
has not that become proverbial? And yet the very fact 
that men do dispute about tastes is sufficient to prove that 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 337 

there is another side to the question. When some one says 
that the Bay of San Francisco is beautiful, he is recording, 
to be sure, an individual impression. But he means to do 
more than that. He means to say that the bay is beautiful, 
no matter what you or I may think about it — yes, no matter 
though he himself had not had the sense to appreciate it. 
He means that its beauty is a fact, as palpable as the fact 
that the waters of the bay are salt. And hence if this fact 
is denied he insists upon it, and even endeavors to prove it. 

The case of economic values illustrates the general prob- 
lem very well. Has a thing a real value, independent of 
what its owner can get for it, or is such a l real value ' an 
idle abstraction? On the one hand, an affirmative answer 
seems necessary, because, if there is no real value, how can 
we ever speak of a price as being too high or too low, or of a 
market as being inflated or depressed? Or consider the 
case of a manuscript ascribed to Oliver Cromwell and easily 
salable for several hundred pounds. A prying expert notices 
that the loop of a certain letter is such as Cromwell never 
made, and proves the manuscript to be the work of a humble 
secretary ; and its market price drops to a few shillings. 
Was not the manuscript really worth exactly as much before 
as after the discovery ? — But, on the other hand, if there 
were not, and never would be, any demand at all for an article, 
it would surely have no economic value. And things surely 
do rise in value as the demand for them increases. 

Is there a real beauty, or is the beauty of a thing only 
what men take it to be ? Is there a real moral good or evil, 
or are these too only projections of men's fancy? When 
this last question is boldly put, the full import of the con- 
troversy comes into view. Morality is a species of value 
for which men are not seldom called upon to sacrifice wealth 
and reputation and health and life. Now if they become 
convinced that it was merely subjective, heroic resolution 
or even ordinary right living would become impossible. To 



338 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

be sure, if the moral values were illusory, there would be 
the same reason for regarding every other kind of value as 
illusory. But, in the first place, men never can bring them- 
selves to a complete skepticism of values ; and when the higher 
kinds lose their appeal they simply yield it to the lower. 
And in the second place, in so far as values of every kind are 
rejected, and the individual reverts (in this respect) to the 
condition of his earliest infancy, there still remain the inhibit- 
ing power of pain and the attractive power of pleasure, which 
precede and underlie the whole development of valuation. 
Men need to believe in a something beyond themselves; 
they need an external support upon which to stand. Turn 
thoughts and efforts inward, and they are dissipated in the 
melancholy hedonism of the grown infant. 

Reconciliation. — Now, if our view of the social nature 
of sentiment is correct, the escape from all this difficulty 
lies in observing that the issues as thus presented are not 
clear. It is not fair to ask whether values, economic or 
moral or what you please, are relative to human feeling or 
objectively real. They are both. The question would 
not be wholly fair even if human sentiments were not essen- 
tially social. For, even so, a man's formed character is a 
pretty stable organization ; and to be relative to that means 
something very definite. Even if tastes did differ as end- 
lessly as has sometimes been supposed, it remains a very 
real quality of the object that it can win A's approval and 
cannot win B's. It is a quality that at least reaches out 
beyond the individual's momentary impulse and includes 
his past and future, so long as his character (in the relevant 
respect) remains substantially unchanged. 

But, we repeat, when the social nature of valuation is 
considered, the alternative between objective reality and 
relativity to human feelings is doubly unsound. For here 
the standard of reference transcends the character of the 
individual as such, and is measurably independent of the 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 339 

most radical changes in his tastes and preferences. It is 
the character of the society that fixes the distinction be- 
tween good and evil ; and this, for the individual, through- 
out the whole course of his life, makes it for most intents 
and purposes an objective distinction. The ugly girl does 
not simply seem ugly. She is ugly ; and the thought that 
in various foreign climes she might be greatly admired does 
nothing to mitigate the awful fact. A comedy that fails 
is a failure. The poet cannot (as Lamb suggested) " write 
for antiquity." And though remodeling the truth is a po- 
lite art in Canton and Singapore, it is plain lying nearer 
home. 

Apparent Skepticism. — The dependence of values upon 
the sentiments prevalent in a society is generally not present 
to men's consciousness. So long and so far as the society 
remains unitary and the sentiments remain substantially 
unanimous, the values are looked upon as self-subsistent. 
Even an economic value, when it has persisted for some time, 
seems to be no product of human demand, but a part of the 
established order of nature. And when divisions and dis- 
sensions arise, they are very commonly settled in each man's 
mind by his identifying his own standards with the objec- 
tively real ones, and condemning the standards of his ad- 
versaries as false ; or, if modesty and a due sense of human 
fallibility forbid, both standards are confessed to be prob- 
ably more or less false, and the true standard remains in the 
unknown, perhaps unknowable, beyond. In either case, 
the independence of values from all relativity to human 
feeling, whether individual or social, is not called in question. 
Hence when the notion of such a relativity does come to 
men's minds, it is only natural that it should present itself 
as a sort of skeptical disillusionment — as if no value that 
did not transcend all human preferences could possibly 
be real. 



340 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

VI. The Function of the Elite 

Values Relative to the Elite. — But there are certain 
important facts with regard to social standards, of which 
due account has yet to be taken. Society, as we have so 
often repeated, is not a simple organization ; and as civili- 
zation advances it becomes increasingly complex. But this 
means that it may contain, and, indeed, as a rule it does con- 
tain, a diversity of traditions and a conflict of sentiments 
upon every important subject. This is glaringly evident 
in the case of the division of classes, with their characteris- 
tically different notions of honor and propriety. It is evi- 
dent, too, in the divisions of creeds and parties and sesthetic 
cults. And there are innumerable minor divisions, the 
traditions of family, school, office, etc., etc. To say, there- 
fore, that it is the sentiments of the society that fix values 
is not a sufficient statement. Each value is fixed by the senti- 
ments of a select society, a body of elite; and to recognize 
this value as a true one is at the same time to recognize this 
body of elite as being the proper and competent judge of 
the matter. (If an individual is thus distinguished, it is 
generally as a representative of his class or coterie.) 

Relation of the Elite to the Larger Society. — This is no 
more than must needs follow from the acceptance of values as 
objective facts. To believe the fact is to credit the witness. 
On the other hand, the observation that we do credit some 
men as being better judges than some others is often accepted 
as conclusive proof that values cannot have a subjective 
reference. For if values depended on the judge — it is said 
— how could one judge be better than another? Each 
would simply be right in his own opinion. It should be 
noticed, however, that when the limits of a common social 
tradition are left behind — as, for example, in the compari- 
son of Japanese and European painting — the subordination 
of judges stops ; a double standard of excellence is recognized. 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 341 

When, say, a Parisian critic sets himself the task of learning 
to appreciate the Japanese art, his problem is substantially 
this : to initiate himself into the tradition of the cultivated 
Japanese public — to grow into their likeness, that he may 
perceive and respond even as they do. It is only within 
a larger social organization that a select society can occupy 
its favored position as a superior court. It acts (to use the 
old simile) as an organ of the larger society, performing its 
critical function with far greater efficiency by reason of its 
special adaptation, but performing it always within, and 
with reference to, the society as a whole. 

Have the Elite Extraordinary Faculties ? — In what con- 
sists the superiority of the elite? It is not easy to reply. 
Sometimes an exclusive circle has attributed the superiority 
which they profess to a peculiar endowment of sensibility 
or extraordinary faculty of intelligence — as in the case of 
the mutual-admiration society of the Romanticists in Ger- 
many. But though men of this stamp are confident of their 
own distinction, and though they often impose on the general 
public for a time, their standing is insecure, and they soon 
fall into contempt. Now, to be sure, it may seem to be 
abstractly possible that such a body of men are right in their 
estimate of themselves. But if this is the case it will never- 
theless be impossible for us to take account of it in our theory. 
For we, like the rest of the academic world, are plain work- 
aday folk, not singular beings with peculiar feelings. So, 
even if the singular beings are right, we have no means of 
verifying the fact. And an unverifiable fact might as well 
be no fact at all. Consequently, for the purposes of science, 
it is an inevitable working assumption that the exclusive 
circles are wrong, and the ultimate popular judgment right. 
The men who sincerely claim to have extraordinary faculties 
must be set down as self -deceiving charlatans. Besides, 
there is always this to be said : in so far as these men are 
singular, their singularity sets them apart from us, makes 



342 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

them to all intents and purposes foreigners in our midst. 
They are not part of our society, and hence cannot function 
as our elite. 

They are Well Developed. — But if this be so, what can 
constitute the superiority of the true elite? If, just as the 
only facts worth talking about are generally verifiable facts, 
so the only values worth talking about are generally appre- 
ciable values, then is not everybody of the elite? No, be- 
cause few men are what they might be. The elite have 
been fortunate in a special development of powers which origi- 
nally were no more remarkable than those of many humbler 
men. They have had an education beyond the common 
lot of their fellows. They represent in actuality what in 
others has remained only a half-developed germ. That is 
why they can speak for the society as a whole. They are 
the society at its best. 

Let us take a concrete instance. There exists at the pres- 
ent time a comparatively small body of men who believe 
that an offensive war is never justifiable. They do not base 
this belief on any special intuition of their own. They do 
not claim to possess an experience of moral values which 
none of the rest of us can ever know. On the contrary, 
they attribute their peculiar belief to the fortunate circum- 
stances of their own upbringing, that has made them feel 
what others have not yet felt. And they believe most 
heartily that in the course of time all men of sound mind 
will come to feel as they do ; so that their judgment, which 
now to most men seems so extreme, will be a commonplace. 
Now a position like this is worth considering. The pacifi- 
cists may be wrong ; but at least they have not condemned 
themselves in advance. They are such as the true elite 
might well be. 

How are the Elite to be Recognized? — But how are we, 
from the impartial standpoint of the outsider, to determine 
whether the pacificists have indeed reached a higher morality 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 343 

or no ? Answer plain and short : there is no impartial 
standpoint except that of ignorance. I either think with the 
pacificists or against them, or I know not what to think. In 
no case is there any absolute test by which I can get behind 
myself and them. 

The Test of Time. — There is, indeed, an ulterior test ; 
but it does not lie within our volition to apply it. It is the 
test of time. If the pacificists are right, and it is true that 
they represent a grade in advance in the general evolution 
of morality, the actual progress of that evolution itself may 
be counted on to confirm that judgment. At any rate, there 
is no other possibility of an impersonal confirmation. 

Its Wide Application. — The test of time, which we can- 
not apply, but which is forever applying itself, is familiar 
in all departments of life. At that recent auction of old 
books was too high a price paid for the First Folio of Shake- 
speare ? Not if at future auctions as high a bid is reached. 
Is Browning or Tennyson the greater poet ? Leave the ques- 
tion to the year 2000. Is the Emperor William a great 
man? That is for future historians to say. 1 The test is 
perhaps of rarest but most profound significance in the sphere 
of morals. There it is the appeal of martyrs of all degrees, 
who look beyond the petty inflictions or the greater torments 
which the judgment of their own day visits upon them, to 

1 In the discussion of particular examples the student must be careful to 
make allowance for several considerations which lie outside the scope of our 
argument. (1) Things are constantly changing in value by reason of changed 
conditions, without any change in the standards of value themselves. Our 
interest is in the standards. (2) Valuations of things are constantly changing 
by reason of improved knowledge of them and of their effects — again with- 
out change in the standards. One reason why we must postpone judgment 
on the character of William is that the facts are not all in, or, if in, are not 
yet arranged and systematized and thus made available for our judgment. 
What we have to note is that even when all this has been accomplished, his 
place in history will not be definitely fixed. The development of the stand- 
ards themselves may still exalt or degrade him to a degree which we can at 
present scarcely imagine. 



344 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the heartfelt approval of the time to come. For even the 
deeply religious minds, that look only to a hereafter where 
God is the supreme judge, expect a public vindication. They 
would scarcely be content with the thought that their fellow- 
saints should continue to condemn them throughout all 
eternity. 

There are, of course, values which the future is left no 
part in determining. That is because the standards upon 
which they are based are themselves consciously restricted 
to the present. What seems fashionable now, is fashionable. 
Next year has nothing to say about it. For though a year 
hence the thing may no longer be fashionable, it will remain 
true to the end of time that it was fashionable to-day. Yet 
even here there are limiting cases where the test of time does 
apply. The perfection of fashion is that which just outruns, 
and hence can hope to guide, the prevailing mode. The 
most distinguished success, therefore, involves a certain 
anticipation, a certain risk, which a brief lapse of time can 
alone altogether justify. 

Is the Test Superficial? — But why should we thus be 
dependent on time for the sanction of our judgments? Why 
should the future know more than we? On the face of it 
the test of time seems superficial and unfair, to say the least, 
and in theory we are sometimes tempted to reject it; but 
in general practice we constantly fall back upon it with the 
utmost confidence. Is our confidence justified, or is the 
test as superficial as it appears? 

Historical Continuity of Society. — The answer to this 
question depends upon the fact that the society to which 
values are relative is not a creature of to-day alone, but em- 
braces a past, and looks forward to a future which will be 
what the past and the present have made it. In a word, it 
has had, and will have, a history. The society of to-day, con- 
sidered apart from all this history, is an abstraction, a mere 
temporal cross section of the real society ; for the real society 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 345 

has a temporal as well as a spatial extension. The accept- 
ance of a value as objectively real implies that it is real for 
the society as a whole, comprehending its past and its future. 
The older generations may not have been sufficiently de- 
veloped to appreciate it ; the future generations may be 
so much farther developed as to have a much richer and 
fuller appreciation than our own. But the former needed 
only the further development of the sentiments they pos- 
sessed, not any extraneous addition ; and the latter, though 
they may feel more than we, will never give our feelings 
the lie — if the value in question is indeed real. 

Consider, for example, the moral value of such conduct 
as that of Abraham Lincoln in the reestablishment of the 
federal power in the South. The general opinion among 
intelligent men throughout the world, then as now, has been 
that he followed the only course honorably open to him; 
that it was his paramount duty to maintain the Union, even 
as he did. A very different view, however, is occasionally 
met with. It is held that ' to maintain the Union ' is a 
misleading name for Lincoln's policy, and that the war was 
essentially a war of conquest. The Confederate govern- 
ment, it is urged, was an accomplished fact. All the law 
and order that existed south of the Potomac was its law and 
order. Its legislatures and its courts, its administrators 
of high and low degree, and its armed forces were alone 
there. What Lincoln did was to send hundreds of thousands 
of soldiers into a peaceful country, bringing with them untold 
havoc and desolation, in order to bring it into subjection. 
So, we repeat, a few critics believe as against the almost uni- 
versal opinion to the contrary. Now it is no part of our 
purpose to discuss whether this criticism of Lincoln's con- 
duct is valid. Our concern is only to ask what it would mean 
for it to be valid. And we answer that if it be valid it must 
express even now the inevitable outgrowth of our deepest 
convictions, which our past history has securely implanted 



346 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

in us ; and that, for this reason, it is bound to spread among 
thoughtful men and eventually to become an established 
judgment. 

Historical Continuity and the Objectivity of Values. — 
As we now perceive, the test of time is anything but super- 
ficial. The passing of this test is an essential part of what 
the possession of value means. As the elite within a given 
society function, in the pronouncing of their judgments, 
as representatives of the whole society, even so the present 
society, and in particular its elite, functions in its judgments 
as a representative of the society's past and future. It is 
the historical continuity of the development of the sentiments 
that gives to values the objective character of reaching out 
beyond the limits of the present, just as it is sympathy that 
gives to them the objective character of reaching out beyond 
the experience of the particular individual. 

The Breach of Continuity. — What happens when the 
historical continuity is broken? In strict literalness, of 
course, this does not occur. Society, like nature, makes 
no leaps. But just as in the history of the earth's fauna 
there are periods of revolutionary change, during which the 
old monarchs of the earth and sea and air are swept away, 
and their places are taken by the descendants of animals 
which occupied a much humbler place in the scale ; so there 
are revolutions in human sentiment, so profound and so 
far-reaching, that the new age exhibits the most striking 
contrast to the old, exalting much that was despised and 
despising much that was exalted. And again, even when 
no single startling revolution has occurred, the slow course 
of imperceptible modifications may bring about total changes 
of the utmost magnitude ; so that as the later society looks 
back upon the earlier it finds many of its ideals utterly 
foreign. In such a case the older values are viewed much 
as are the values that obtain in foreign societies of one's 
own day. Their objective character is lost, and they present 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 347 

themselves as mere reflections of the changing sentiments 
of men. It becomes a distinct problem for the critic to find 
his way back to the ancient modes of thought and feeling — 
to make himself an ancient, as it were — in order that he 
may be able to form a just judgment of the ancient deeds and 
works. 

Historical Position of the Elite. — The distinguishing 
mark of the true elite is that they are closer than the mass 
of ^society to the past and the future of society. Because 
they often rate very low some things which the mob rate 
very high, they are often regarded as narrow men. It is, 
on the contrary, the breadth of their sympathies, the catho- 
licity of their appreciations, that makes them what they are. 
Not all change is progress, or even decadence. Much of it 
is aimless fruitless fluctuation. The petty changes of fashion 
are of this sort — little eddies upon the surface of the great 
current of tradition. The elite, in so far as they are properly 
to perform their representative function, must be too deep 
for fashion to touch, moved only by the larger trend. 

VII. Absolute Values 

Absolute Values as Limits. — In relation to the evolution 
of human sentiments, the notion of a real, objective value of 
things takes on a new significance. If sentiments were uni- 
form and changeless, the values which they recognize would 
be indisputably real. When sentiments are found to be 
discordant and changeful, real values seem to exist only with 
reference to the particular phase of the particular society. 
But the conception of an evolution of sentiments provides 
for real values in the further sense of the ideal limits toward 
which the actual evaluations of things are indefinitely tend- 
ing. Such limits may be called absolute values. 

Have They a Real Existence ? — But is it a fact that 
there are any definite limits toward which actual values 
tend? Is there a system of absolute values? We have no 



348 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

evidence that makes this probable. If we try to trace the 
history of any kind of value, we find the continuity of the 
development constantly broken into through the influence 
of new valuations of other sorts, and ultimately by new physi- 
cal conditions. A religious revival may inaugurate a new 
school of comedy, which may profoundly influence the 
standards of polite manners. The exhaustion of a source 
of metal supply may cause a change in economic conditions, 
which has its effect on morality and taste. And if we try 
to conceive of a development of the whole system of values, 
comprehending them all in all their interrelations, it simply 
passes our comprehension. We do, indeed, find certain 
progressive differences, which, despite innumerable excep- 
tions, hold generally as between savagery and civilization. 
But these are far from sufficient to constitute a unitary de- 
velopment ; and if they were sufficient, we have no reason 
to suppose that the process would have a definite and final 
limit. At the same time we must admit that if there were 
a unitary development of the system of values, it would be 
upon so vast a scale that we might well be utterly unable to 
detect it, much less predict its course. 

Regulative Use of the Conception. — However, the ques- 
tion whether there is an ultimate goal to the evolution of 
values in general or of any particular kind of values is not of 
any great significance. Few, if any, unanswerable questions 
are significant. Our use of the conception of the goal or 
limit is (as logicians say) regulative. It helps us to analyze 
and comprehend the particular periods of evolution that 
interest us. For to single out any particular period as a 
distinct object of inquiry is to treat it as if it were somehow 
complete in itself; and that means that it must be con- 
ceived as having a certain end of its own. If the evolution 
lies wholly in the past, we pick out some phase which seems 
to us especially typical or significant, and treat the whole 
process as the evolution of that phase. We write of the evo- 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 349 

lution of English tragedy, and close with King Lear; of the 
evolution of the French monarchy, and close with Louis XIV ; 
of the evolution of German philosophy, and close with Hegel 
and Schopenhauer. The commonest terminus is of course 
the present state of things. The evolution of the orchestra 
is the evolution of the orchestra of Richard Strauss and 
Debussy. The evolution of American politics is the evolu- 
tion of the politics of Bryan and Roosevelt, Murphy and 
Barnes. But often the development presents itself to us in 
the light of a story whose plot is not yet worked out ; and 
we figure to ourselves as well as we can what the outcome of 
the story is bound to be. In such a case the anticipated 
outcome is thought of as rounding off the evolutionary pro- 
cess, just as in other cases the present or past outcome is 
thought of. It would ill suit the ends of our imperfect think- 
ing to be always endeavoring to think of the processes of 
evolution as infinite in scope and duration. We are bound 
to take it in periods, and to regard each period in turn as if its 
conclusion were indeed a logical stopping place. 

Now as applied to the evolution of values this means that 
it is often necessary for us to think of values as if they were 
absolute. They are, so to speak, absolute for us, bounding 
our field of vision as effectually as if there were indeed nothing 
beyond. We believe, for example, that under civilized con- 
ditions slavery is morally wrong. We are perfectly ready 
to trace the evolutionary movement by which this convic- 
tion arose in ourselves and in others like us, until it became 
practically universal. But here, so far as our present out- 
look is concerned, the evolution ceases. It has come to a 
full stop. The evilness of slavery is absolute matter-of-fact, 
as plain and clear as 2+2 = 4. We say, perhaps, make a 
lip confession of the fallibility and mutability of human 
judgments, but this does not imply the least skepticism as 
to the ultimate truth of our own creed. 



350 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

VIII. Historical Continuity 

Let us now observe more closely the nature of that his- 
torical continuity upon which, as we have said, rests in part 
the kind of objectivity which values in general possess. 

Its General Meaning. — When anything of an organic 
nature is subjected to influences that tend to modify it, it 
does not yield to those influences with equal readiness in all 
its parts and functions. It yields first in its more super- 
ficial features ; that is to say, generally speaking, in its more 
recently acquired features, that have not yet been intri- 
cately interwoven with others, and upon which still later 
developments have not yet been based. It yields where it 
can yield with the least disturbance of its constitution as a 
whole. The modification follows, as we say, the ' path of 
least resistance/ Only when a superficial change does not 
suffice to restore a stable equilibrium does the change strike 
deeper and deeper; and only the most extraordinary and 
persistent exigencies can disturb its most ancient and funda- 
mental traits. This is what is meant by ' continuity/ 

Illustrations. — It would lead us too far afield to attempt 
to illustrate this conception in all the various fields in which 
it is applicable. Let a few examples suffice: (1) Some sen- 
timentalists have suggested that the course of evolution 
might perhaps some time do away with the distinction of 
sex. According to the principle of continuity, no change 
could well be more improbable. The distinction of sex has 
existed from the very origin of the many-called forms of 
animal life. Anything will go sooner than that. (2) Simi- 
larly, in social evolution, the abolition of private property 
is almost inconceivable. But private property in land is 
comparatively recent, and under long and severe stress might 
go. Franchises for the operation of various public utilities 
are still more recent, and might easily go. (3) The history 
of science exhibits a similar continuity. When a strange 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 351 

phenomenon is observed, which contradicts our preconcep- 
tions, we make room for it most grudgingly, giving up as little 
of our old ideas as possible. An investigator exhibits test 
tubes containing low forms of animal life, and declares that 
the test tubes were carefully sterilized after being hermeti- 
cally sealed. Ninety-nine out of a hundred of us declare 
that the sealing must have been faulty, or the sterilization 
insufficient. It is easier for us — it requires a less profound 
unsettling of our conceptions — to suppose that the investi- 
gator is incompetent, than to admit that fresh living matter 
can originate in a test tube. Sometimes, to be sure, the 
readjustment of ideas has to go pretty deep ; as when the 
conception of permanent species of organisms was given up ; 
or as when the phenomena of radioactivity compelled the 
admission that the chemical atom is not absolutely unde- 
composable. But in such a case the evidences must be over- 
whelming, and they are subjected to the most critical tests ; 
and, if these tests are passed, all manner of compromises 
are tried before the radical explanation is accepted as nec- 
essary. 

Continuity in Changes of Valuation. — Now this same 
continuity obtains in the realm of values. In the standards 
of good manners, only a little change would be necessary to 
make it proper to drink soup from the tip of the spoon, or 
to keep one's hat on in an elevator ; for not much else would 
be affected. Such changes take place constantly. But to 
make it proper for women to smoke in public, much more 
is required. Smoking has long been taboo to the sex. A 
host of associations and prejudices have clustered about it, 
that tend to keep it so. If women are to smoke in public it 
must involve a widespread movement among women to 
break the bonds of their ancient taboos. This movement 
must itself be in the first instance unfashionable. Smoking 
might then be symbolic — like the red necktie of the social- 
ist. By the time it was good form for women to smoke on 



352 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the streets, our most deep-seated notions of seemly relations 
between the sexes might well be changed. Men might no 
longer be doffing their hats or resigning their seats or assum- 
ing petty burdens. 

Application to Moral Values. — We need not delay longer 
with preliminary examples. We know that the principle is 
universal in its application ; and we have already considered 
its significance for the general theory of values. What we 
have now to consider is its special significance in relation to 
moral values, by reason of the fundamental and compre- 
hensive character which these values possess. 

In the last two chapters we dwelt at some length upon the 
function of the moral habits in unifying character and in 
facilitating social intercourse. In view of the facts there 
laid down, we can see that an alteration of moral values can 
hardly occur without far-reaching effects. The organizing 
force being shifted, the organized material must needs 
undergo a notable rearrangement. 

The Standard of Veracity. — What would be the effect if 
we were no longer to hold it wrong to tell a lie to a stranger ? 
We are not without grounds upon which to base a reply. 
There are peoples among whom a lie to a stranger is con- 
sidered quite innocent. These peoples do not stand high 
in the scale of civilization. They are incapable of any 
complex form of social organization. Their industrial and 
commercial policy is of the crudest. Their religion is limited 
to local and family cults. Scientific procedure is unknown 
to them. It is not hard for us to see why this must be the 
case. If the stranger, as such, is to be deceived at will, so 
also he is not to be trusted. No alliance with him can be 
more than temporary, and all the maxims of tribal craft must 
turn on the expectation of treachery ; credit is so narrowly 
restricted that the standards of good business, as we con- 
ceive it, are incomprehensible ; the stranger's god is sus- 
pected and feared as the stranger is. How impossible 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 353 

science must be without the sentiment of universal veracity 
we can see from the importance with which the duty is in- 
vested by scientific men to-day. Many of them hold it in 
a religious, not to say superstitious, reverence. 

If, now, we look at the reverse process — the process by 
which actually our ideal of veracity has arisen, we see at 
once that it must have been impossible except as an essential 
part of the whole development of civilized society. There 
are, to be sure, many uncivilized peoples who regard a lie 
as intrinsically shameful. But, indeed, these are almost as 
far from the conception of the civilized ' man of honor ' or 
merchant or scientific investigator, as the peoples who re- 
gard the lie as innocent, especially if told to a stranger. 
For observe how different these civilized men are from each 
other. The man of honor will die rather than be guilty of a 
falsehood for his own benefit ; but he will lie without scruple 
in order to protect the honor of a friend. The merchant's 
word is for him the entering into of a contract. For him the 
highest praise is that ' his word is as good as his bond.' If 
he was honestly mistaken in his statement, that does not 
release him from it ; he must make his word good. More- 
over, he feels a certain obligation, if not to tell the whole 
truth, at least not to endeavor to conceal any part of it. The 
man of science cannot make his word good if it was not good. 
He is bound not only to absolute veracity, but to the utmost 
care in making his observations and in verifying the reports 
of others. He must set down with the same fidelity the 
fact that contradicts as the fact that confirms his theory. 
In the presence of the truth, friendship counts for nothing. 
And he is bound, so to speak, to advertise the faults of his 
goods. 

Continuity of Moral Evolution. — Now, we say, the de- 
velopment of such standards as these cannot be a thing 
apart. The development of the integrity of the cavalier's, 
the merchant's, the scientist's integrity is inseparable from 
2a 



354 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

the development of chivalry, of commerce, and of science. 
And for that reason, we repeat, the process must be slow ; 
and, what is more, it must be gradual. Our moral senti- 
ments, upon which the unity of individual and social life 
depends, cannot vary without manifold and extensive con- 
sequences ; and hence in them the continuity of history is 
exhibited in an especial degree. 

This is the form which the dogma of c eternal and immu- 
table morality ' takes for us to-day. For the men who framed 
that dogma there was no alternative between absolute fixed- 
ness and unrestricted change. The only universality of 
which they could conceive was an abstract identity of type. 
We have learned of another sort of universality, which ad- 
mits of degrees, and into which change enters as a factor. 
And this sort of universality we recognize as belonging to 
moral values as to no others within the compass of our 
knowledge. 

IX. Individual Differences 
They must be Admitted. — And now let us return to the 
individual differences which we have so long neglected. 
That there are marked individual differences in men's valu- 
ations of things is as evident as the fact that men differ in 
character ; or rather these are but two aspects of the same 
fact. Grant that sentiments are, in the main, social func- 
tions, — just as concepts are, in the main, social functions, 
— it remains true that sentiments, like concepts, vary al- 
most without assignable limit, from man to man, within the 
given society. 

Their Character. — But let us not exaggerate. The in- 
dividual is not capable of developing by himself any type of 
valuation that is radically different from that which obtains 
among his associates. The differences which he exhibits 
are for the most part not strictly personal, but belong to 
the narrower social circles in which he has grown up — as 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 355 

we remarked a while ago in speaking of the lover of 
Wagner and the lover of Meyerbeer. The strictly personal 
differences are: (1) differences in elementary (congenital) 
susceptibility to pleasant and unpleasant excitation; (2) 
exaggerations and minimizations of accepted values, due to 
such differences in elementary susceptibility ; (3) arrested 
development in one or another direction, due to a more 
thorough lack of feeling; and in some few directions, 
perhaps, (4) a further development of the customary valua- 
tions — though it is only a very little way that even the 
greatest genius can go by himself, without sympathy from 
some source. All told, the individual differences that we find 
are such as may be described as divergences from a type. The 
most striking peculiarities are the cases of arrested develop- 
ment. 

Are Values for the Individual Real Values? — Well, then, 
such as they are, what are we to say of the individual dif- 
ferences? Are things, or are they not, really good, when 
some man finds them good ; and are they, or are they not, 
just as good as he finds them? Grant that other men judge 
differently, is not his valuation as much of a standard as 
any one's else, or as all men's else, so far as he is concerned ? 
And if a thing pleases him, does it not just as truly please 
him though all the rest of the world are pained by it ? And 
if it displeases him, what does it matter if everybody else 
is charmed by it? 

In questions like these there are generally implied two 
misconceptions which must be removed before a fair direct 
answer can be given. 

In the first place, the last two sentences are probably guilty 
of the common hedonistic confusion between pleasantness 
(and unpleasantness) and value. It is not the isolated feel- 
ings as such, but organized sentiments, that are the basis 
of value. The fact that a thing pleases a man generally 
causes him to regard it as valuable ; but it may not. For 



356 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

example, he may be amused by a trashy novel, and still 
regard it as trash. Of course, if the same sort of novel were 
a frequent resource of his leisure hours, he would soon come 
to ascribe a certain value to it. Value must always have 
some degree of permanence, and a passing pleasure does not 
necessarily indicate it. 

In the second place, the questioner wholly forgets the 
systematic nature of sentiments, and hence of values. A 
sentiment, no matter how strong, can hardly be said to be 
correct, unless it harmonizes with the general system of the 
man's sentiments. For otherwise it must lead him into 
contradictory judgments. But with respect to the system- 
atic connections between the feelings (as distinguished from 
the original elementary susceptibilities to feeling) the in- 
dividual is almost entirely dependent upon social influences. 
Generally speaking, the external harmony of a man with his 
fellows and the internal harmony of his own sentiments 
coincide. Sentiments that are without public support are 
very likely to be without a very broad foundation in the 
individual's character. 

The Question Restated. — All this, however, is simply 
narrowing the exceptions, not denying them. What of 
the cases where a man's character does show an independent, 
and yet internally consistent, development? And what of 
the more numerous instances where the divergence from the 
type is (as we have phrased it) one of simple exaggeration or 
minimization? Are the values thus recognized real or not? 
We are accustomed to say that they are real for the man him- 
self; but that means only that his experience repeatedly 
confirms the judgment of their reality, and contains nothing 
that contradicts it. For us, we say, they are not real ; which 
means that our experience does belie their reality — that 
if we try to get any satisfaction out of such things, we are 
disappointed. Are values, which in the above sense are real 
for one man and not for others, real or not? 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 357 

Let it be constantly borne in mind that the question is 
not whether the man's sentiments are real. It is supposed 
that they are. But no one regards one of his sentiments 
as being identical with the value which he sets upon a thing, 
any more than he regards his concept of the thing as being 
identical with the thing. The question relates solely to 
values. 

The Negative Answer Formally Required. — If, now, we 
are to use language with formal accuracy, we must answer 
shortly and plainly in the negative. Real values, like other 
realities, must not only be characterized by coherence with 
the experience of the individual, but they must be generally 
verifiable. As a rule (we have seen) these two characteristics 
go together, so that the former alone may be taken as a 
sufficient indication of reality ; but where they are separated 
we are logically bound to say that the reality is destroyed. 
As we urged in another connection, when a man asserts that 
San Francisco Bay has a certain aesthetic value, he is not 
referring merely, or necessarily, to experiences of his own. 
He is alleging an objective fact, that reaches out beyond 
himself, and would remain if his whole consciousness of the 
matter ceased to be, or, indeed, had never been. 

Its Futility. — But we must beware of trying to give a 
greater accuracy to our language than our thoughts possess. 
We should remember that ' external ' and ' internal har- 
mony/ the ' systematization of the sentiments/ etc., stand 
only for matters of degree. No man has a thoroughly uni- 
fied character, and no man is thoroughly at one with his 
social environment. Consequently, if we wished to hold 
ourselves to perfect accuracy we should have to say that no 
values, at least as we experience them, are real. But this is 
futile — as futile as the contention that all of our concepts 
are imperfect, and that we know nothing as it truly is. 
Science is human and it makes no pretences to perfection. 
The differences in our valuations of things exhibit an endless 



358 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

gradation. Everything is a departure from type ; and when 
we try to fix it rigidly, the type — that is to say, the reality 
— eludes us and vanishes into the unknown. 

If, therefore, we say that values that exist only for the 
individual are unreal, we must say it with the reservation 
that all our valuations are to an undetermined extent marked 
with individuality. We must not be understood as if we 
were contrasting these unreal values with others that were 
entirely impersonal. 

X. Values Peculiar to Minor Social Groups 

Their Impermanence. — There is another question of 
similar import, which must be disposed of in an analogous 
fashion. When a value recognized by a smaller social group 
is at no time recognized by the larger group of which it is a 
part, is the value real? On the whole we must answer no. 
The fact that the larger society gives the valuation no sup- 
port, but, on the contrary, with every contact tends to 
weaken it, means that it is doomed to an early disappearance. 
The tastes and ideals of cliques and coteries, when they fail 
to reach the great public, are without permanence. The 
test of time condemns them. 

Most of the apparent exceptions are only apparent. 
When, as happens, for example, in aristocratic or priestly 
circles, a set of valuations persists and develops through the 
centuries, despite the prevalence of a different set outside, 
this does not indicate an entire lack of sympathy from the 
outside. Though the populace keep their own standards 
for themselves, they think it well enough that nobles should 
be nobles and priests be priests ; and they would be scandal- 
ized to see a member of the privileged classes doing what 
they themselves do without scruple. And in the few re- 
maining cases, where an entire lack of sympathy exists, we 
can generally say that the smaller society is not really a part 
of the larger, but a parasite upon it. 



THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS 359 

The Logical Extreme is Futile. — But here again we must 
not think ourselves bound (or entitled) to an absolute ac- 
curacy in our distinctions. The spatial boundaries, the 
temporal origins and dissolutions of societies, are seldom pre- 
cisely marked. If we push our principle to the uttermost, 
we can scarcely stop short of the assertion that no value 
that is not destined to universal and permanent acceptance 
is real. But this too is futile; for science knows nothing 
of eternal destinies. 



REFERENCES 

Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. III. 

Baldwin, J., Social and Ethical Interpretations of Mental Develop- 
ment. 

Cooley, C. H., Human Nature and the Social Order. 

Ross, E., Social Control, Part II, especially Chs. XIII-XV, XXIV, 
XXVII. 

McDougall, W., Social Psychology, Ch. VI. 

Westermarck, E., Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, Ch. V. 

Bosanquet, B., Philosophical Theory of the State, Ch. XI. 

Royce, J., Outlines of Psychology, Ch. XII. 

Read, C, Natural and Social Morals, Book I, Ch. III. 

Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chs. VII, VIII. 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 
I. Evolution in General 

Relation of Ethics to Organic Evolution. — Ethics, in 
common with all the other sciences of life and mind, was 
profoundly affected by the publication, in 1859, of Darwin's 
great work on the Origin of Species. For a time it seemed 
as if the whole science must be recast in the light of the prin- 
ciples which he there laid down. We know now that this 
expectation was groundless — that the theory of organic 
evolution has no direct bearing upon the problems of ethics. 
This very truth, however, is itself of no small importance ; 
and we shall feel warranted in turning aside from the direct 
prosecution of our theme in order to make this truth clear. 

Definition of Evolution. — Evolution is gradual increase 
in complexity. — By l complexity ' we mean : to consist 
of many parts, which (1) are of unlike nature or activity, 
but which (2) are closely dependent upon one another for 
their continued existence or activity. Evolution, as an 
increase in complexity, thus includes : (1) an increased vari- 
ety in the parts, and (2) their more intimate mutual depend- 
ence. These two aspects of evolution are called ' differen- 
tiation ' and ' integration/ respectively. 

Complexity. — Examples of complexity are so numerous 
that it is difficult to choose among them ; but perhaps the 
carpenter's kit of tools affords as instructive an example 
as any. The kit consists of scores of tools, which differ 
among themselves enormously, and almost any one of which 
would be useless without the others — or so nearly useless 

360 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 361 

that there would be no sense in manufacturing it. The 
plane, for example, is an admirable thing ; but it has to have 
its surface prepared for it by some other tool. One would 
never accomplish anything if one started to plane a rough 
block of wood. Each too has its own function, and is ill- 
adapted to replace any of the others. Now consider, by 
way of contrast, the kris of the Filipino peasant. Aside 
from its use as a weapon, he can cut down trees with it, trim 
off the branches, shape timbers, build himself a house and 
fill it with furniture, without employing any other tool. It 
cuts with impact, like an ax, and with pressure, like a knife 
or a plane. The owner can turn it over and drive in a nail 
or a peg with the back of it — a peg which he has perhaps 
whittled out with the kris itself. The kris is independently 
useful, as the several contents of the carpenter's tool chest 
mostly are not. The kit of tools is a single complex thing. 
A chestful of krisses would not be a complex thing at all. 
It would be a mere collection. 

There is the same difference between the Filipino village 
and a more highly civilized community. In the Filipino 
village every man is a farmer, a carpenter, a smith, a cook. 
When he needs a rope he makes it on the spot. He cuts his 
brother's hair, and his brother cuts his. He has not lost 
the barbaric art of making a fire by rubbing two pieces of 
wood together. Separate him from his fellows — set him, 
like Robinson Crusoe, alone upon an uninhabited island — 
and he would get along beautifully. But do the same with 
the average New Yorker or Philadelphian, and the man would 
perish miserably. Our communities are exceedingly com- 
plex, consisting of men of widely different training and 
abilities, who supplement one another admirably, but who 
cannot live without one another. By contrast, the Filipino 
village might be said to be a mere collection ; though, in- 
deed, this would be an exaggeration. For though every 
man is, say, a carpenter, there are in each village one or two 



362 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

men who are known as having special skill as carpenters, and 
who are likely to be called in to do difficult work in that line 
— when they happen not to be busy in their own fields. 

Universal Evolution. — Now historians are well aware 
that American and European society has gradually arisen 
out of a condition analogous to that of the Filipino village ; 
and that the carpenter's tool kit is in like manner descended 
from a very few tools that were analogous to the kris. They 
are products of evolution. And we have come more and 
more to suspect that all the complexity that is anywhere 
observable in the world has come into existence by evolution. 
The system of chemical elements, the solar system, the 
surface of the earth, the vegetable and animal kingdoms, 
societies and their customs and institutions, production, 
transportation, exchange, religion, science, art, morality — 
all these now exhibit a high degree of complexity, which we 
believe they did not always possess and did not suddenly 
acquire. The most conspicuous example of evolution is, of 
course, the development of the individual plant or animal 
from the single cell in which it invariably has its beginning. 

Theories of Evolution. — A theory of evolution is either 
descriptive or explanatory. A descriptive theory sets forth 
in a generalized form the various phases of the process, as 
it is observed to take place. An explanatory theory at- 
tempts to point out the conditions under which evolution 
occurs, the various causes, or factors, which contribute to 
the result, and the manner in which they affect each other. 
Some theories of evolution have been devised to apply to 
all evolution, wherever it may occur. The most important 
recent instance of a universal explanatory theory is that of 
Herbert Spencer (First Principles, 1861), who tried to show 
that evolution is an inevitable consequence of the conserva- 
tion of energy. It is an exceedingly ingenious and impres- 
sive theory ; but the advance of physical science has already 
made it somewhat antiquated ; and (a far more serious 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 363 

matter) it was never of the least service in explaining organic 
and social evolution. 

Other theories of evolution apply only to particular fields : 
government, say, or language or religion. In many impor- 
tant fields we have only the beginnings of an explanatory 
theory. This is notoriously the case with respect to indi- 
vidual development. It is also the case with language and 
art. 

Scope of the Darwinian Theory. — Darwin's theory of 
evolution is an explanatory theory, applying only to plant and 
animal species — their structure, functions, and general 
behavior. It is an attempt to explain how all these species, 
complex as many of them now are, may have originated 
from one, or a very few, single-celled forms, as many lines 
of evidence have convinced us they have in fact originated. 1 
It does not pretend to apply to individual development, 
whether physical or mental ; and it applies only indirectly, if 
at all, to the various phases of social evolution. 

II. Darwinism 

Artificial Selection. — The Darwinian theory was sug- 
gested by the experience of breeders in producing new vari- 
eties of pigeons, rabbits, sheep, cattle, and other animals, 
by a process of selection. If a sheep owner wishes to produce 
sheep of a certain sort, which he has in mind, he picks out 
for breeding those that come nearest to his wish ; and again 
from their offspring picks out those that come nearest; 
and so on. In this way, in a very few years, surprising 
changes in size and shape and in the yield and quality of 
wool can be brought about — all as the effect of the constant 
preference of the breeder for sheep that possess certain traits. 

Natural Selection. — Darwin observed that a very similar 
thing happens when no human contriver is at work. As we 

1 By far the best popular account of this evidence is that given in the first 
part of Joseph Le Conte's Evolution. 



364 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

all know, every species of plants or animals produces far more 
new individuals than can possibly reach maturity and them- 
selves leave offspring. This fact is called the ' struggle for 
existence/ Even the slow-breeding elephants, if not thinned 
out by premature death, would in a few centuries encumber 
the earth. And many species produce thousands of young 
for one that reaches maturity. What determines which 
that one shall be? Accident, largely. But also, it may be, 
the peculiar size or strength or some other characteristic 
of the individuals. In the long run, those survive that are 
fittest to survive. Now it seems to be the case that every new 
individual is, from the very beginning of its development, 
different in many ways from the parent organisms, though 
the differences are generally very slight ; and it also seems 
that these so-called l congenital variations ' are themselves 
inheritable. Sometimes a variation is such as to give the 
plant or animal a greater chance of reaching maturity and 
perpetuating itself. The variation is then said to have 
survival value. In any particular case this survival value 
may count for nothing; an untoward accident may stamp 
it out. No doubt many favorable variations are thus lost. 
But the same cause (whatever it may have been) that pro- 
duced the favorable variation in one individual has very 
likely produced a similar variation in many others. Now 
when great numbers are considered, the effect of accident 
tends to be eliminated. A greater proportion of the in- 
dividuals that exhibit the favorable variation are apt to 
survive, than is the case with the species generally ; and they 
transmit to their offspring the same advantage. Hence, 
in the course of time, the variation is likely to spread itself 
throughout the whole region ; and, what is more, any further 
variation in the same direction, that may occur, will add 
itself in cumulative fashion to the original variation. Thus a 
continued advantage in the struggle for existence, enjoyed by 
those individuals who vary from their fellows in a certain 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 365 

direction, has an effect like that of the persistent preference 
of the breeder. These individuals are, as it were, selected 
by nature for the purpose of breeding. Hence the phrase 
1 natural selection.' 

Environmental Changes. — If external conditions re- 
mained the same, it is conceivable that the modification of 
species by natural selection might come to a stop in a con- 
dition of universal equilibrium. But, as a matter of fact, 
environmental conditions are constantly changing, both by 
reason of the slow transformation of the earth's surface, of 
which geology treats, and by reason of the migrations of 
species. Thus the coming of the lion into South Africa 
or of the white man into America brought about a tremen- 
dous change in the environment of many plants and animals. 
But a change in the environment means generally a disturb- 
ance of adaptation. It means that there is further room, 
and further need, for variations that may prove to have 
survival value. For if the maladaptation is great, and favor- 
able variations do not soon appear, the unfortunate species 
becomes extinct. The necessity of adaptation to the changing 
environment thus makes the modification of species perpetual. 

Why Evolution is Produced. — But why has this modi- 
fication been in the direction of greater complexity? Why 
has it been an evolution f 1 It has not always been. Natural 
selection has sometimes brought about evolution, sometimes 
devolution, sometimes neither. All depends upon whether 
increased complexity has survival value or not. Increased 
complexity is in one way apt to be advantageous. When, 
instead of a single tissue or organ's having to perform several 
distinct functions, these functions can be distributed among 
a number of different tissues or organs, a higher efficiency is 

1 The reader should note that many biologists use the term ' evolution ' 
to denote any modification of a species. This usage is unfortunate, and has 
given rise to much confusion. Thus the question which we ask above has 
often been completely overlooked. 



366 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

made possible. Differentiation, in other words, has the 
advantage that lies in all specialization. There is, however, 
another way, in which increased complexity may be dis- 
advantageous. The more complex organism has more 
complex needs. All of its many diverse parts must be kept 
in repair, and kept in adjustment to each other. Now some- 
times this increased difficulty of maintenance more than 
balances the advantage of specialization. Then devolution 
takes place. For many millions of years, since the cleaning 
up of the atmosphere by the forests of the coal age, evolution 
has on the whole been limited to land animals and flowering 
plants. And thousands of species of one-celled organisms, 
both animal and vegetable, still dwell in our midst. 

Is Natural Selection Sufficient? — Biologists have been 
seriously divided over the question whether the natural 
selection of slight congenital variations is sufficient to ac- 
count for all the evolution of species that has taken place. 
When we compare two widely separated forms — as man and 
his fish ancestor — this seems impossible. But the more we 
consider the long series of forms that intervened, analogues 
of many of which still exist, the difficulty greatfy diminishes 
if it does not wholly disappear. For the most striking trans- 
formations, such as, for example, the origin and develop- 
ment of the limbs, seem to have been brought about by in- 
significant quantitative steps : slight changes in the size, 
shape, number, and arrangement of minute structures. 
The question is still an open one, with the burden of proof 
upon the opponents of Darwinism. 

Inheritance of Acquired Characters. — There are two chief 
points upon which the controversy has turned. The first 
of these seemed at one time to have momentous consequences 
for ethics, which we shall consider in another place. Are 
not only congenital variations (it was asked), but also traits 
acquired during the course of individual life, inheritable? 
For example, does the blacksmith's exercise of his right arm 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 367 

make his child's biceps any bigger? The question has not 
been decisively answered; but the evidence goes to show 
that if any effect takes place it is quite as slight as the con- 
genital variations which the Darwinian theory in its extreme 
form alone assumes. The reproductive cells, from which 
the new generation arises, are always distinct from the or- 
ganism which contains them, and from which, in parasitic 
fashion, they draw their nourishment. So far as can now 
be seen, the only way in which the blacksmith's exercise 
can affect his child is by somehow modifying the consti- 
tution of the blood upon which the reproductive cells feed, 
and thus indirectly affecting them. But there is no reason 
to suppose the effect, whatever it might be, would show itself 
in the child's right arm rather than elsewhere. 

Mutations. — Upon the other point we shall say just a 
word. Has evolution been due to the selection of slight 
variations, or to the larger variations which sometimes occur 
and which are called ' mutations ' ? Careful observation 
has shown that new species and varieties may, indeed, arise 
by mutation, but that it is scarcely possible that any evolu- 
tion (as we have defined the term) should be thus produced. 
For the evidence goes to show that mutations are caused by 
the combination and dropping-out of different hereditary 
tendencies (' unit-characters,' as they are called), which 
persist unchanged throughout all the combinations into which 
they enter. It is by the slow accumulation of slight varia- 
tions that the origin of the unit-characters must, in all prob- 
ability, be itself explained. 1 

III. Application of Darwinism to Ethics 
The Conception of Moral Instincts. — When men inspired 
by Darwin's ideas undertook to explain the evolution of 
moral sentiments, it was natural enough that they should 

1 Cf. Castle, W. E., The Method of Evolution, in Heredity and Eugenics, 
University of Chicago Press, 1912. 



368 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

overlook one striking difference between sentiments and the 
different structures and functions with which Darwin had 
been occupied. He had been dealing with traits which are 
passed on from generation to generation by heredity, and 
modified by variations which are themselves perpetuated 
by heredity. And the early investigators of moral evolu- 
tion treated moral sentiments as if they too were trans- 
mitted in this way. In other words, they treated moral 
sentiments as instincts, similar in nature and origin to the 
animal instincts of migration and of protection of offspring. 
They thought of them as having been acquired by natural 
selection and transmitted to each new generation in the 
shape of a peculiar inborn arrangement in the nervous 
mechanism. They supposed that a child inherits the tend- 
ency to approve of temperance and condemn untruth- 
fulness, exactly as a kitten inherits from its parents the 
tendency to play with a mouse. 

Their Survival-value. — They looked, therefore, to see 
what the survival-value of the ' moral instincts ' might be. 
Do justice, chastity, truthfulness, kindness, loyalty, courage, 
and temperance make a man ' fitter ' to survive ? By this 
is meant, let it be remembered, not more worthy to survive, 
but better equipped to survive, and hence more likely to sur- 
vive. Interpreting the question thus, the evolutionists had 
little difficulty in coming to an affirmative answer. Acci- 
dents sometimes happen; but generally speaking it is the 
moral men that live long in the land and leave it to their 
children as a heritage. 

Heroic Virtue. — And yet a difficulty arose. We find men 
almost universally admiring as the very height of virtue 
characteristics that seem more apt to lessen than to increase 
the individual's chance of leaving offspring. It is well to 
be just ; but if you are too scrupulous you will never be rich. 
It is well to be brave; but if you are too brave you will 
never go back to the girl you left behind you. When vir- 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 369 

tue amounts to heroism or self-sacrifice, how can it have 
survival-value ? 

Group-selection. — Perhaps this difficulty was never felt 
to be very serious ; but, at any rate, Darwin soon made a 
suggestion that completely nullified it. He pointed out 
that among social animals traits may have a survival-value, 
not because they are serviceable to the individual, but be- 
cause they are serviceable to the social group. The in- 
dustry of the worker-bee has survival-value, even though 
the workers are all barren ; for it maintains the hive. The 
warning-calls, by which many birds and mammals arouse 
their companions to the presence of danger, have a double 
value : first, to their own young, who may be present, and, 
secondly, to the flock or herd as a whole. Now is not this 
the case with the virtues ? Altogether apart from their use- 
fulness to the individual in increasing his chance of leaving 
offspring, are they not of manifest value to the community ? 
Without chastity the family falls apart; without honesty 
commerce comes to a standstill ; without mutual good-will 
cooperation for the common defense or for public improve- 
ments is impossible ; without temperance the resources of 
the community must be wasted ; without courage its liberty 
cannot be maintained. 

Evolution of Moral Instincts. — Supposing, then, that the 
moral sentiments are instinctive, it is easy to see how they 
have been developed and spread abroad. Every variation 
in their direction would have survival-value and hence 
would tend to be selected. The more virtuous a society 
is, the more formidable it is both in war and in economic 
rivalry, the more apt to spread its borders and send out 
vigorous colonies ; while the less virtuous dwindle away and 
perhaps wholly disappear. In that way, it may be conceived, 
the virtues have grown to their present degree of perfection 
and have become a general characteristic of the whole species. 
The vicious man is simply an instance (in respect of his vices) 
2b 



370 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of atavism, or reversion to an earlier type : the type of the 
primitive savage, or perhaps even of the ape-man who was 
still in the condition of a brute. 

Difficulties. — Allowing its first assumption, the theory 
seemed on the whole to work very well. But two serious 
difficulties manifested themselves. 

(1) Natural Selection too Slow. — The first difficulty was 
of wider scope than the theory of moral evolution. It at- 
tached to the application of Darwinism to social evolution 
generally — not only in the field of morals, but in that of 
language, art, commerce, religion, etc. Natural selection 
of minute congenital variations is a very slow process. Social 
evolution is a relatively rapid, and, what is more, an in- 
creasingly rapid process. And while changes in moral 
sentiments are slow as compared with other social changes, 
yet the lapse of a century or two can work wonders. But 
even the whole time of recorded history would be too short 
for natural selection to make any effectual impress. Geo- 
logical periods are needed. 

Spencer's Theory. — It was partly for this reason that 
many scholars insisted that the fruits of individual experi- 
ence must be in great measure inheritable. Herbert Spencer 
declared that moral instincts must have arisen from the 
experience of generations of our ancestors, as to what sorts of 
conduct brought pleasure to the agent and to others, and 
what sorts brought pain ; the experience being inherited by 
each generation in the form of a vague, unanalyzable aver- 
sion to certain sorts of conduct, and passed on, intensified 
by fresh experiences, to the next. He cited as an analogy the 
rapid growth of an instinctive terror of man, in the birds of 
newly peopled lands. The birds at first view him without 
the slightest timidity; but they soon exhibit great fear, 
especially when he carries a gun. Unfortunately for the 
theory it was soon shown that this fear is not, and does not 
become, instinctive. It is traditional. It is originally ac- 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 371 

quired by experience, and is diffused and transmitted from 
generation to generation by means of warning cries. A bird, 
hatched by a female of another species, to whose warning 
cries he is unable to respond, grows up as fearless of man as 
the birds of a desert island. 

(2) Immorality not Atavistic. — The other difficulty arose in 
the study of the immoral man, and particularly the criminal. 
Taking seriously the notion that the criminal is a reversion 
to a primitive type of man, anthropologists set themselves 
the task of analyzing and describing this type. For a time 
all ran smoothly. They found that a great number of ab- 
normalities, ranging from left-handedness and color-blind- 
ness to imbecility (which are known or suspected to be ata- 
vistic), were far more common among criminals than among 
law-abiding men ; so that, when they cast up the averages, 
they were able to describe the criminal as a pretty definite 
type of man. But, as the critics soon pointed out, the fact 
remained that great numbers of law-abiding men are far 
more abnormal than the average criminal. The true ex- 
planation of the facts was then forthcoming. Habitual 
criminals are, in great part, men who either have not learned 
how to work, or have not been habituated to work so as to make 
it seem a natural part of their lives. Any constitutional 
defect, whether atavistic or not, that makes it more difficult 
for a man to take training — as left-handedness does, of 
course, in a slight degree — makes him just so much more 
likely to become a criminal. But there is no criminal type. 

The Initial Assumptions False. — Weighed down by these 
and similar difficulties, Darwinism in morals collapsed — 
at least so far as the opinions of ethicists are concerned ; 
among educated men in general, it still has a considerable 
following. And as it failed in the field of ethics so it failed 
in all the other departments of social science. For the initial 
assumptions were false. Social traits are not transmitted 
by heredity ; and it is only to traits so transmitted that the 



372 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

theory of natural selection applies. A language, for example, 
is not transmitted by heredity. A child whose ancestors 
have for a thousand years spoken nothing but English 
learns to speak English or Greek or Japanese indifferently, 
according to the circumstances of his upbringing. A re- 
ligion is not inherited. A child is not born a Christian or a 
Buddhist. The Janizaries, famous for their fanatical Mo- 
hammedanism, were recruited from the children of Christians. 
An art is not inherited. It is not by intermarriage with 
the Spaniards that the Filipinos acquired their taste and 
skill in European music ; for such intermarriage has been 
comparatively slight. And a morality is not inherited. 
Few social changes have been more striking than the stop 
which Christianity, both in ancient and in modern times, 
has put to the toleration of infanticide. 

IV. Congenital Basis of Morality 

The Congenital Basis. — Darwinism in the social sciences 
has had, however, one permanently good effect. It provided 
an explanation of those congenital human endowments that lie 
at the basis of all our acquisitions. Men used to speak of a 
religious instinct — thinking, the while, that they were 
glorifying religion by putting it upon the psychological level 
of the migration of the swallow or the web-construction of 
the spider. We know now that there is no religious instinct. 
But there are, of course, instincts out of which the religious 
sentiments grow ; for example, the combined fear and curi- 
osity which strange phenomena excite. Art in general and 
the several arts in particular have their basis in inherited 
traits. The pleasantness of various colors and color-com- 
binations, and of various proportions and curves, belongs to 
our common human nature. The consonant intervals 
between notes are the same for all mankind. 1 And thus it 

1 Differences in the instrumental scales of various peoples long obscured 
this point ; but the evidence is now overwhelming. 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 373 

is with morality. Though in its developed form it is not 
inherited, it grows out of instincts and other congenital 
tendencies which are indeed inherited, and which, if they 
are absent from any individual, leave him a moral imbecile. 

(1) Sympathy ; Pride, Shame, etc. — We have spoken in 
another connection of the part which the tendency to sympa- 
thetic feeling plays in the development of all sentiments. In 
the same connection we spoke of the similar part played by 
the instinctive feelings of pride and shame, respect and con- 
tempt. Here we may add that these feelings not only in- 
fluence the development of the moral sentiments, but persist 
as a very common and important factor in them. For the 
moral sentiments have as their objects types of conduct and 
character. And, as we recall, pride and shame are easily 
awakened by a valuation set upon anything connected with 
oneself ; while respect and contempt are as easily stimulated 
by a valuation set upon anything connected with another. 
But nothing is closer to a man than his own moral character 
and the conduct by which it is expressed. Hence in moral 
emotions which we feel about ourselves pride and shame 
generally enter, as respect and contempt enter into those 
which we feel about others. 

(2) Retributive Emotions. — Account must also be taken 
of the retributive emotions, resentment and gratitude. Some 
thinkers have held that these feelings, and especially the 
former, are the real instinctive basis of morality. This ex- 
treme view is easily suggested by the sort of documents 
from which the history of morality must in great part be 
studied: documents of a legal character. For laws not 
only set forth a moral standard but attach penalties to non- 
performance ; and the practice of punishment undoubtedly 
has its source in the instinctive feeling of resentment. Some 
ethicists have regarded moral approval and disapproval as 
generalized forms of gratitude and resentment : gratitude 
and resentment on behalf of the community. It may be 



374 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

noted that these are primarily other-regarding feelings. They 
may at times be directed toward oneself, but this is clearly 
not their normal tendency. Hence ethicists who treat these 
feelings as the sole (or principal) basis of morality are led to 
treat the moral emotions that attach to other persons as 
primary, and those that relate to oneself as a sort of inward 
reflection of these. On a general survey, there can be little 
doubt that this view is one-sided. Our moral attitudes 
toward ourselves obviously contain more of pride and shame 
than of gratitude and resentment ; and in our attitudes 
toward others respect and contempt often enter where the 
more active feelings of gratitude and resentment have no 
place. 1 

(3) Hostility to the Abnormal. — Another instinctive 
feeling which should be mentioned on account of its strong 
conservative influence upon moral as well as aesthetic stand- 
ards, is that of hostility to what is abnormal. The part which 
this instinct plays among animals in weeding out tendencies 
to degeneration is well known, and can in fact be observed 
in every barnyard. In man it is a protection, not only 
against congenital abnormalities, but against abrupt de- 
partures from established usage. 

(4) Instincts of Family Life. — Furthermore, various in- 
stinctive tendencies of human nature have played a direct 
part in the shaping of particular moral standards. We had 
reason to mention several of these in Part I, Chapter V. 
Especially worthy of notice are the instincts out of which 

1 Closely connected with the erroneous view here criticized is another 
error which has caused untold evil. This is the widespread opinion that 
punishment is the essential agency in moral education. Now the fact is that 
only under a narrow range of conditions has punishment any direct effect 
upon the moral sentiments ; namely, when it excites shame, and shame not 
at the punishment but at the fault which occasioned it. It has, of course, 
an important indirect effect through the maintenance of order. But it is 
safe to say that you can no more beat morality into a boy than you can beat 
aesthetic taste into him. 



THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 375 

family life arises : sexual love and the jealousy which so 
readily attaches to it ; the love of the mother for her new- 
born child x and (more particularly) for the nursing child ; 
the love of the child for its nurse; and those vaguer, but, 
in the long run, not less effective tendencies by which the 
care and companionship of the child bind the whole family 
together. In former times it was generally believed that 
the community was an outgrowth of the family; and no 
doubt if one goes back far enough that is true. But it seems 
probable that while man was still at the ape-level the hunt- 
ing-group (the community) and the reproduction-group 
(the family) existed together. 

Human Values Products of Culture. — But there is no 
moral instinct. None of the feelings which constitute, as it 
were, the raw material of the moral sentiments are in them- 
selves distinctively moral ; they are, as a matter of fact, 
widely shared by the higher animals. This observation 
need not, however, be confined to morality. Just as, physi- 
ologically, man has no new tissues or organs, so psychologi- 
cally man has no new sensations, or (as it would seem) 
instinctive feelings. The elementary differences that we find 
are differences in degree. What is peculiar to humanity is 
the complex organization of the given elements that belong to 
the common heritage of man and the higher animals. The 
distinctively human values of art, religion, and morals are 
products of culture. In Kant's words, though in a somewhat 
altered sense, " Man becomes a man only by education." 

1 We do not wish to suggest that there is in women a specific instinct of 
this sort. Probably there is not, but only an instinctive love for children in 
general, intensified by the feeling of personal relationship which the months 
of pregnancy and the pains of childbirth have inspired. It has been ob- 
served that women in whom the love of children in general is weak, feel 
little love for their own new-born children, although they may later become 
passionately attached to them. There is, of course, no specific paternal 
instinct. Men, like women, feel a love of children in general, but generally 
in a much weaker degree ; and from this beginning has arisen one of the 
most powerful sentiments known to humanity — that of fatherhood. 



376 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Necessity of Education. — In fact, as we compare man 
with the higher brutes, one of the most striking contrasts lies 
in the utter insufficiency of his instincts alone to direct his 
behavior, even under the simplest conditions of savage life. 
Human instincts are for the most part fragmentary and 
vague. They require much practice and experience to de- 
velop them to a point where they become useful. The 
baby grasps by instinct ; but his early efforts to grasp are 
pitiful to see. He creeps by instinct ; but he is months in 
learning how, and many babies do not learn. He walks 
and runs by instinct; but he must learn to do both. He 
says ngd and da by instinct ; but he must learn to talk. 

V. The Analogy of Language 

This last remark suggests an instructive comparison. 

Simple Sounds and Combinations. — How much of lan- 
guage is inherited, and how much is traditional? Certain 
of the consonant and vowel sounds occur in the instinctive 
cries and exclamations of the infant. Others almost inevi- 
tably come to him as he amuses himself by making noises 
with his mouth, and, when they catch his attention, are re- 
peated until he has a mastery of them. As a matter of fact 
many more sounds thus occur than any language has use for. 
A selection is thus instituted which varies widely from one 
language or family of languages to another. Thus the Fili- 
pino dialects are generally lacking in the sounds of /, v, th 
and sh (hard and soft), ch, j, and z. Moreover, the sounds 
selected are fixed and standardized in a way that varies 
greatly. The French I and the English I are not exactly the 
same, the one being a dental, the other a palatal sound. The 
permitted combinations of sounds are also fixed by tradition. 
We find the Greek initial kt and pt awkward. In many 
languages no two consonants ever come together, and every 
syllable ends with a vowel. In others no two consonants can 
come together except at the end of one syllable and the 









THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM 377 

beginning of the next. Thus it is fair to say that the vocal 
elements of any language are in no part merely inherited. 
All, as we have it, is traditional. 

Speech-melodies, etc. — Again, the so-called melodies of 
speech — such, for example, as the marking-off of a paren- 
thetical phrase by a lower pitch, or as the rising inflection char- 
acteristic of the question to be answered by ' yes ' or ' no ' 

— are instinctive. There are even instinctive words, such 
as ' huh-huh ' and ' m-m/ for ' yes ' and ' no.' But these too 
are given their specific local forms by tradition. Nothing 
seems more senseless to an American (before he gets used to 
it) than the sing-song of an Englishman's speech. And, as 
we well know, the sentiment is reciprocated. The varieties 
of ' huh-huh's ' and ' m-m's ' have never been counted. And 
the instinctive meaning is probably not exactly yes and no, 
but consent and refusal. 1 Add to the list a few exclama- 
tions, also standardized and greatly modified by variations 
of tradition — ' ouch ' and ' ah ' and the like — and the in- 
stinctive part of language seems to be fairly summed up. 
Almost the whole vocabulary, the parts of speech, the dis- 
tinctions of case, number, person, voice, tense, and mood, 
the order of words (except, perhaps, the subject-predicate 
order) are traditional. There is no natural grammar. And 
of that which is beyond grammar — the soul of the language 

— all lives only in tradition. 

Conclusion. — Now we may venture to say that in moral- 
ity the instinctive and the traditional — or, if you please, 
the animal and the human — are similarly related. What 
belongs to instinct is essential, of course; but it is only a 
bare beginning. Even what is directly due to instinct is 
subject to selection and standardization. (The example of 
the prohibited degrees of marriage recurs to us.) But the 
instinctive contributions are at best but slight in comparison 

1 The shake of the head is originally a refusal to take offered food. The 
nod seems to be an expression of determination. 



378 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

with the developed sentiments which have grown out of 
them, and which are transmitted from generation to genera- 
tion, not by heredity, but by the sympathetic contact of 
man with man. 



REFERENCES 

Darwin, C, Descent of Man, Chs. IV, V. 

Huxley, T. H., Evolution and Ethics. 

Schurman, J. G., Ethical Import of Darwinism. 

Fiske, J., Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Part II, Ch. XXII. 

Sorley, W. R., Recent Tendencies in Ethics, Ch. II. 

Stephen, L., Ethics and the Struggle for Existence, in Contemporary 

Review, Vol. LXIV, reprinted in Popular Science Monthly, Vol. 

XLIV. 
Dewey, J., Evolution and Ethics, in Monist, Vol. VIII. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 

I. Conditions of Moral Evolution 

Moral Evolution Affected by Non-moral Sentiments. — 

There is a sense in which the separate study of the evolution 
of morality is impracticable. For morality is dependent 
throughout its evolution upon religion, art, politics, and 
scientific inquiry — nay, even upon such pettier concerns 
as sport and social entertainment. All these, it may be said, 
are similarly dependent upon one another and upon morality. 
But the peculiar double function which morality performs, 
as the essential condition of social unity and of the unity of 
personal character, makes it especially open to modifying 
influences from every quarter. Not that moral sentiments 
change easily. On the contrary, their stability is extraor- 
dinary. But it is the almost endless complexity of the in- 
terests which they correlate that gives them this stability. 
And, contrariwise, if one is to understand the moral evolu- 
tion that has taken place, no class of interests can be safely 
neglected. 

And on Economic Changes. — Meanwhile the moral senti- 
ments, in common with every other class of sentiments, 
have been dependent in their evolution upon conditions of 
another kind. We have elsewhere pointed out that social 
intercourse comprises the interchange of services and goods, 
as well as of ideas and sentiments. Social evolution thus 
involves as an essential factor the evolution of industry and 
commerce. And we must not disguise the fact that the his- 

379 



380 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

tory of morality, like that of religion, art, and politics, can- 
not be adequately studied without a parallel study of eco- 
nomic history. 

Let us note, by way of illustration, a few of the most 
obvious effects of the evolution of industry upon morality. 

Primitive man does no work. He gets food for a meal or 
two at a time ; he provides himself with rude clothing and 
shelter ; he makes a few tools and weapons. But all that 
he does is for the immediate support of himself and his family, 
or, perhaps, his companions in the chase. In civilized society 
the vast majority of men must work — must devote the 
greater part of their waking life and the utmost limits of 
their energy to tasks which contribute nothing directly to 
their own support. The necessity of learning to work in- 
volves the modification or suppression of powerful human 
instincts. Hence the virtue of industry. Among primitive 
men there is no wealth, and consequently no war ; for there 
are neither the motives nor the means for carrying on war. 
With the accumulation of wealth war begins, and with war 
arises the relation between chief and common man, and the 
military duty of obedience. Necessarily bound up with the 
organization of work is the exchange of goods; and this 
cannot proceed far without the institution of contracts 
and the commercial virtue of honesty. 

Is this ' Materialism ' ? — These are but a few hints of 
the close and constant influence which economic conditions 
have had upon morality. Sometimes ethicists have been 
inclined to minimize this influence, feeling that it gave too 
' materialistic ' a tone to the subject. But this was ill- 
advised ; for the reciprocal influence of morality upon eco- 
nomic conditions is no less real. And, indeed, if the 
development of morality had not been constantly controlled 
by non-moral conditions, it would stand to-day out of re- 
lation with such conditions, an ineffectual mass of prejudice. 

Now this is not to deny that moral evolution presents a 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 381 

certain inner continuity. It does. It makes a very in- 
teresting story. But if any one imagines that, taking this 
story as it stands, it presents a complete causal sequence, 
in which the earlier events sufficiently account for the later, 
he is woefully mistaken. And yet he is no more mistaken 
than the man who supposes that economic history is a com- 
plete causal sequence, in relation to which morality is but 
an unsubstantial ' epiphenomenon.' 

II. The Problem of Moral Evolution 

The Problem Stated. — Nevertheless there is one line of 
questions with regard to moral evolution which may, and 
indeed must, receive separate treatment. As moral stand- 
ards arise and are modified in response to changed conditions, 
how is the particular mode of response determined? For 
though morality may develop in an economic environment, 
it- is morality none the less ; and the adjustment to external 
change is its adjustment. ^ There is a real development of 
morality as it has been, not a mere accretion or substitution 
from without. It always remains true that a different 
morality, under a like economic stress, would develop dif- 
ferently. And we therefore ask: In what characteristic 
way is the adjustment of morality to external conditions deter- 
mined? 

Analogy of Organic Evolution. — The problem which is 
thus set before us is comparable to that which Darwin asked 
with reference to organic evolution, and for the solution of 
which his theory of natural selection was offered. How is 
the adaptation of the species to changing environmental 
conditions directed? Of the nature of the particular en- 
vironmental changes he had in most cases very slight knowl- 
edge ; and of the causes of these changes he had almost no 
knowledge at all. Even so recent and extraordinary a 
phenomenon as the glacial epoch remains to-day very im- 
perfectly explained. Yet Darwin was able, from his survey 



382 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

of the conditions of organic life, to propose a general theory 
of the way in which organic evolution at all times proceeds. 

The ^Esthetical Problem. — A similar problem may, of 
course, be raised with respect to every distinct class of senti- 
ments and values. For example, we may ask how the 
changes of aesthetic sentiment are determined. In the last 
third of the seventeenth century the English stage developed 
an exceedingly fine ' comedy of manners,' which culminated 
in the masterpieces of Congreve and Farquhar. Suddenly 
it was swept away ; and though a half-century later it en- 
joyed a brief revival (at the hands of two Irishmen), this 
was only to be followed by a new and permanent collapse. 
Why these changes in public taste? A religious revival is 
pointed to as the first destructive agency, and the French 
Revolution as the second. Such an account may satisfy the 
literary historian. But the great question of evolutionary 
theory remains : How does public taste change ? 

The General Problem. — A similar question may also be 
asked with reference to sentiments and values in general. 
No doubt different classes of sentiments have their own char- 
acteristic modes of evolution. But it is at least open to 
inquiry whether there is not a generic resemblance among 
them all ; and, if this be the case, the establishment of this 
resemblance is a scientific desideratum of great magnitude. 

As a matter of fact little has yet been accomplished 
toward the upbuilding of a general evolutionary theory 
of values. Some few points will be noted here. 

III. The Modification of Standards of Value 

(l) The Canoe : the Accepted Type. — A most suggestive 
illustration — because of its visible concreteness — of the 
mode of change which standards of value exhibit, is to be 
found in the successive modifications by which useful im- 
plements are gradually brought to perfection. Among 
savages of a low grade the standard of a good canoe is very 






THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 383 

simple. Roughly shaped from a single log, the canoe is 
heavy, slow, and awkward, of small carrying-capacity, and 
easily swamped in stormy weather; and yet its owner is 
quite content with it. One specimen after another is con- 
structed after a traditional pattern, without thought of 
possible improvement. Of course, the uses of such a boat 
are limited ; but so long as there is no need to use it beyond 
these limits, their presence is unfelt ; just as we do not feel 
it to be a defect in an ordinary steamship that it could not 
survive an arctic winter. If the savage fisherman's boat is 
swamped, he blames the rough weather, which might have 
been different. It never occurs to him that the boat might 
have been different, unless, perhaps, it might have been 
more lucky. The type of boat he accepts as implicitly as if 
it were a natural species. 

Discontent and Invention. — But gradually the demands 
upon the canoe increase. We need not here ask the reason 
why. It may be war, or sport, or the failure of a usual food 
supply. But, for whatever reason, more is required. The 
canoe must bear heavier burdens, in rougher waters, and 
with greater speed. As it is pressed into this more exacting 
service, its deficiencies are soon manifest. Mishaps are 
increasingly common and serious. Discontent begins to be 
felt, not now with the weather — for equally bad weather 
must often be met — but with the boat ; and discontent is 
the mother of invention. When one boat is accidentally 
better than another, discontent sharpens men's eyes to see 
the essential points of difference. Various analogies suggest 
improvements, and discontent supplies the initiative that 
gives them a trial. Thus, let us say, the sides of the boat 
are built up, the seams are stopped with pitch, outriggers 
are added, and the general lines are so modified that the 
resistance of the water and of contrary winds is decreased. 
And as discontent prompts the inventor, so discontent in 
those about him makes them welcome his suggestion and 



384 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

imitate it in their own new boats. 1 Moreover, just as 
changed external conditions first brought new demands upon 
the boat, so its improved form leads to new uses — let us 
say, to a more extensive commerce — and the change in 
social conditions thus arising may react in increased de- 
mands upon the boat. Thus a widened commerce, which 
was at first a convenience, may easily become a necessity 
by reason of the increased population or higher standard of 
living which it helps to bring about. 

Acceptance of the New Type. — Now it should be observed 
that when a man makes a boat according to a customary 
pattern, he need have little or no idea of the significance of 
the various proportions which he follows. He may very 
likely see why the sides are built up, but not why they are 
built up just so high and not higher. He sees clearly that 
the bow cuts through the water ; but it does not occur to 
him to ask why it should not be sharper. His appreciation 
of the pattern is thus vague ; and we must add that it is 
very superficial. The general type of the boat is simply 
taken for granted, accepted without question, even by the 
cleverest constructors ; and when one does not question, no 
reasons appear. As each modification is suggested and ac- 
cepted, its significance must be in some measure understood. 
But as soon as the modification has become incorporated in 
the accepted pattern, any understanding of it is no longer 
necessary. Imitation now suffices. Thus, while there may 

1 Psychologists have sometimes reasoned as if an invention had only to 
be made, in order to be appreciated and imitated. This is so far true, that 
the discontent that stirred in the inventor was almost certainly not confined 
to him — he has a public prepared for him. But the prepared public may 
be small ; and it may be years and years before the larger public is ready. 
As far as mere imitation goes, the traditional mode of doing things offers 
a thousand models to the inventor's one. The imitative tendency alone 
would seldom suffice to lead men aside into the new ways. This is some- 
times strikingly evident when the attempt is made to introduce a foreign 
invention among a people who are entirely content with their own methods 
— American tools among the Mexican peons, for example. 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 385 

be no significant feature of the boat that has not at some time 
been understood — namely, when it was introduced — the 
boat as a whole never has been understood. 

Mental Simplification. — In this respect the boat exem- 
plifies a very general law of mental and social evolution. The 
results of experience are not conserved, in the individual or 
in the race, in the form in which they have been acquired, 
but in a more or less simplified or abbreviated form. A boy 
learns to play a piece on the violin. The accomplishment 
is a very different thing in his experience, from what it will 
be when it has become a familiar habit. A woman meets 
on the street a man to whom she was introduced the evening 
before. The mental process of recognition is far more com- 
plex than it will be when he has become an intimate friend. 
In the acquiring or modifying of a function, consciousness is 
present in forms and degrees that are superfluous when the 
acquisition or modification has been effected ; and in so far 
as consciousness becomes superfluous, it drops out. The 
same principle probably applies also to the evolution of 
instincts; though precisely how it works here is still 
uncertain. 1 

The modification of the standard of a good boat may now 
be paralleled by examples of modifications in other kinds of 
valuation. 

(2) The Accepted Price. — In a certain Filipino village 
the price of eggs was a penny (i.e. $.006i) apiece. If you 
asked why, the only answer was that such was the custom 
in those parts. When one had eggs to sell, one sold them 
at a penny an egg, if at all. If one wished to buy, one of- 
fered a penny an egg ; and if none could be procured at that 
price, one simply went without. 

The New Market Price. — But a change came. A little 
American colony grew up in the neighborhood. The Amer- 

1 Cf. C. Lloyd Morgan, Habit and Instinct, especially the concluding 
chapter. 

2c 



386 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

icans bought eggs for a penny apiece ; and when the supply 
ran short they offered twopence, and, on occasion, even more. 
This the townsfolk set down as weak foolishness — as the 
European cabdriver sets down as folly the extravagance of 
the American who gives him an over-large tip. But if Amer- 
icans were foolish, all the more reason for plundering them 
with a good conscience. So the Filipinos saved their eggs 
to sell to the Americans at twopence. Between themselves 
the old price still subsisted. They were ashamed to ask a 
fellow-townsman more than the ' real value ' of the eggs. 
But the consequence was that more and more often the 
Filipino who needed eggs could not buy them. The egg- 
owner would declare that he had none to sell. 

The Change of the Standard. — The situation was thus a 
strained one. Not to be able to buy eggs occasionally was 
to be expected and endured ; almost never to be able to buy 
them was not so easily endurable. Gradually sales at the 
new price began to be made between Filipinos, though with 
some grumbling. A few conservatives long continued to 
declare that they would never consent to be robbed ; and 
perhaps they kept their word. But eggs were now by gen- 
eral consent worth twopence apiece. Their value had 
changed. And the reason was plain. The extravagant 
Americans had raised the price at which they could be bought 
and sold ; and the popular valuation had gradually come into 
accordance with the new conditions. But we may venture 
to predict that if the two-penny rate endures, it will, in popu- 
lar estimation, soon be an axiomatic principle. 

Comparison with Previous Example. — It need hardly 
be said that the change in economic valuation is a much 
simpler process than the change in the standard of a good 
boat. The element of invention scarcely enters. The value 
of the eggs (i.e. the price at which they are thought to be 
neither ' cheap ' nor ' dear ') simply accommodates itself 
to the market price (i.e. the price at which they can be freely 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 387 

bought and sold). 1 In this respect economic valuation is 
exceptional. But the generic resemblance to the case of the 
boat is still evident. There is the same transition from one 
customary standard to another, brought about by dissatis- 
faction with ills that were once endured as occasional acci- 
dents, but can now no longer be so regarded. 

(3) Art-forms. — We may add a few general remarks with 
regard to the modification of art-forms. The modifications 
occur in many ways which we cannot now attempt to enu- 
merate or classify. Always, however, there is the customary 
standard to begin with, which is commonly followed with 
only the shallowest appreciation of its limitations ; and when 
the modification has been effected it soon forms part of a 
new custom, as little understood as the first. Why, for 
example, should the sonnet have fourteen lines, rather than 
fifteen? The rhyming scheme is pretty; but why should 
this one scheme be perpetuated in hundreds upon hundreds 
of poems? One common source of dissatisfaction with old 
art-forms is this : that they are applied to a new material 
or a new content or a new useful end, by which their limita- 
tions are emphasized. A beautiful example is to be found 
in the adaptation of the English iambic pentameter verse, 
originally (in Chaucer and his followers) a narrative form, to 
the uses of the Elizabethan drama. On the stage its stiff- 
ness and formality became a nuisance ; and little by little 
the regularity of its rhythm was relaxed until it had almost 
the freedom of prose. Long before the closing of the theaters 
(with the establishment of the Commonwealth) the new 
dramatic versification had become an accepted type. 

1 It should be observed that the science of economics either takes no ac- 
count of what we here call the value of the eggs (the term ' value ' being ap- 
plied to the market price) , or else looks upon it as a merely individual matter. 
Economics seems not to suffer in consequence ; but from the standpoint of 
the general theory of values the confusion of thought that results is most 
unfortunate. The standards of cheapness and dearness are certainly no 
more individual than the standards of good taste in dress or deportment. 



388 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

IV. Conventionality in Moral Standards 

We have now to examine how this general mode of 
evolution exhibits itself in the particular case of moral 
standards. 

(1) In Standards of Duty. — It is not difficult to observe 
that in a great part of our moral judgments the standards 
applied are quite as conventional, quite as empty of under- 
standing, as the penny-an-egg standard or the fourteen-line- 
sonnet standard have ever been. That it is wrong to steal or 
tell a lie ; that suicide is worse than larceny — judgments such 
as these are accepted and applied to particular instances 
without a thought that there may be a rational ground for 
them, much less that a rational ground is needed. Indeed, 
to some men it has seemed to involve a gross misconception 
of the nature of moral values to ask for a ground for them. 
What is wrong is wrong (they have said), and that's the end 
of it ; what is right is right, and any attempt at further justi- 
fication only belittles its essential character. 

(2) In Standards of Benevolence. — Do these remarks 
apply only to the morality of duty? They apply most 
widely and most obviously there ; but they have also their 
application to the morality of benevolence and to that of 
virtue. To speak first of benevolence, we recall that its 
direction is laid down by standards of duty — we are not 
called upon to squander our kindnesses indiscriminately — 
and, in so far, benevolence is apt to be as conventional as any 
accustomed duty. Moreover, the goods of various kinds 
which benevolent men bestow — money, education, social 
prominence, political liberty, and the rest — are in great 
part conventionally estimated. It may be objected that 
this does not affect the character of the benevolence itself 
that it may in its own sphere be equally intelligent, whether 
the non-moral valuations upon which it rests are conven- 
tional or not ; much as an argument may be perfectly valid, 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 389 

irrespective of the truth or falsity of its premises. But the 
objection is not wholly sound. When one unquestioningly 
accepts the conventional valuation of the objects of a be- 
nevolent enterprise — universal suffrage, for example — this 
valuation is raised to the rank of a moral principle. It 
helps to define what altruism means. And the consequence 
is that where other equally estimable objects conflict, a 
spirit of intolerance shows itself, as blindly irrational as any 
Pharisaism. 

(3) In Standards of Virtue. — And the virtues, too, are 
conventional. We might infer this from their dependence 
upon the standards of duty and altruism ; but a direct ex- 
amination shows it very clearly. The virtues, taken strictly, 
are monstrosities, as indeed all ideals are. For human im- 
agination can never set up a standard of perfection in one 
respect, except at the cost of a sacrifice of essential values in 
other respects. The just man of our idealizing fancy is a 
machine; the merciful man is a weakling; the brave, the 
temperate, the wise, are fools and ascetics and cads. No 
ideal could be endured, or rather no ideal would be possible, 
if it were not to some extent conventional ; and, as a matter 
of fact, moral ideals are often thoroughly conventional. We 
see this in the heroes of other times : in the Hebrew prophet 
who slew with his own hands the prisoner whom the king 
had wished to save in the extermination of an accursed 
people ; in the Spartan father who butchered his daughter 
to prove that she was a virgin ; in the Christian saint who 
passed his life upon a pillar. And we have to expect that 
the day will come when the like will be as obvious of the 
heroes of to-day. In practice we distrust the virtues, as we 
distrust all extremes. We temper them with each other: 
justice with mercy, courage with wisdom. It matters not 
that logically they are but various aspects of a single whole. 
We see the aspects as if they were wholes, and can only fit 
them together by prunings-off and compromises. 



390 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

The Conventional Element is Indispensable. — At this 
point a warning may be in place. To point out that our 
moral standards are in great part conventional is not nec- 
essarily to criticize our morality in a hostile fashion. It is 
not necessarily to decry it in comparison with an imaginary 
morality that is rational through and through. For the 
truth is that, unless human intelligence were enormously in- 
creased, such a morality as that would have to be very limited 
and superficial. The appreciation of values is in this respect 
like the understanding of external things. Much of our 
understanding is in terms that are conventional, and, while 
they are grossly unclear, derive an apparent clearness from 
the very fact that they are uncritically taken for granted. 
For two thousand years one of the fundamental conceptions 
of science was ' the wet/ Every one thought that he knew 
what was meant by it, so no one asked. Finally Bacon 
exposed it. "The word 'wet,'" he said, " is nothing else 
than a mark loosely and confusedly applied to denote a 
variety of properties which cannot be reduced to any con- 
sistent meaning." And now men of science agree that he 
was right. But, in different degrees, the same is true of all 
(or almost all) of the fundamental scientific conceptions of 
to-day, not to speak of the conceptions of ordinary common 
sense. If they seem crystal clear, it is only because they are 
uncritically accepted. Space, time, energy, and the trans- 
formation of energy are all nests of vague assumptions. Now 
is this to say that science (or common sense) would be im- 
proved by a banishing of the vague? No indeed. Unless 
human intelligence were enlarged so as to be truly divine, 
we need the conventional, we need the vague. Limit us to 
what is ideally rational and clear, and the cleverest of us 
would never be able to understand the manufacture of an 
omelet. And so, we repeat, it is in the matter of valuation : 
we need the conventional, the irrational, the vague; and 
not less in morality than in art or politics. 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 391 

It is not Diminishing. — But, it may be asked, as science 
advances are not vague conceptions cleared up? And is 
not this, at least in part, what the advancement of science 
means : that its working-conceptions are more and more 
stripped of the ' accidents ' of conventionality and set forth 
in their plain, intelligible truth? And must not the like be 
true of moral progress : that, at least in part, it consists 
in the rationalization of moral standards? No doubt all 
these questions must be answered in the affirmative. Vague- 
ness and conventionality are not advantages but defects, 
and every successful reduction of them is an improvement. 
But we must not forget that while they are reduced in one 
and another quarter, the totality of the vague and the con- 
ventional is not reduced. For with progress there comes, 
too, an immense broadening of the fields of knowledge and 
appreciation. More and more is being added that has yet 
to undergo the process of rationalization. The bulk of our 
unclear conceptions, of our naive standards, becomes greater, 
not less. 

In pointing out, therefore, that our moral standards are 
largely conventional, we intend no hostile criticism. We 
are, indeed, admitting that there is scope for improvement ; 
but after every improvement there will be more scope for 
improvement than before. 

V. Doubt and Reflection 

Let us return to the subject and observe that while the 
standards of morality are in process of change we become 
keenly aware of their significance, at least so far as the suc- 
cessive modifications themselves are concerned. 

The Passing of Wifely Obedience. — There was a time, 
not long ago, when obedience in a wife passed as a virtue. 
We do not now generally so regard it. The promise to obey 
is more and more commonly dropped from the marriage 
service ; and where it is retained it is regarded as an empty 



392 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

formula, not as the acceptance of a serious life-long obliga- 
tion. And we know very well why this is so. It is because 
we have become acutely conscious of the fact that when 
women are kept under a perpetual tutelage they cannot 
develop their full possibilities of intelligence and character, 
and hence are worth less to themselves as well as to their 
husbands and children. We see too that as a matter of fact 
the virtue of wifely obedience, while in the abstract it still 
received a lip-homage, had lost most of its influence in the 
particular issues of everyday life. It did not go far toward 
assuring a man the mastery of his household. It had, indeed, 
the baleful influence which false and hollow ideals always 
have : that of hindering the development of a true, living 
ideal — in this case the ideal of loyal cooperation. 

The Real Basis of Obedience. — At the same time, let it 
be noted, we are put in a position to see more clearly what 
the real significance of the old ideal was. Just because we 
do not accept it dogmatically, we can distinguish the limits 
within which it had a valid basis. Obedience goes with 
dependence for protection and support; and in so far as 
that relation has existed, or still exists, between men and 
women, obedience is due. That is why the thoroughgoing 
feminist is the loudest to declare that the wife ought not to 
be a dependent; that all the obligations of husband and 
wife should be those of equal partners in the business of life. 
And those of us who are not prepared at present to go so far 
as this — those of us who say that now and for an indefinite 
period to come the vast majority of women must continue 
to be dependent upon men to a considerable extent — say 
also that man's responsibility cannot be effective without a 
right to command. Are we, then, just where we were before ? 
Not by any means. For the husband's authority, just 
because it is put upon a rational ground, extends no farther 
than that ground extends. If, for example, as in many circles 
of society is still the case, a man is responsible for his wife's 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 393 

honor — if he must resent, at the jeopardy of his own body, 
any affront that is put upon her — he has a right to require 
her to refrain from any conduct which he may deem shame- 
ful. Since she is not her own protector she cannot be her 
own judge. But that does not give him the right to dictate 
her course in obviously innocent affairs. The authority 
must match the responsibility, not exceed it. Quite simi- 
larly, if he is the wage-earner of the family, he has a right 
to forbid what he may deem extravagance in expenditure. 
Otherwise he is his wife's serf. But that does not give him 
the right to demand that she spend nothing without his 
sanction. Within the limits of economy the freedom of 
choice may be unrestrained. And, furthermore, the argu- 
ment works both ways. In so far as the husband is depend- 
ent upon the wife — in so far as she is responsible for his 
comfort and well-being — she has a right to demand his 
acquiescence with her wishes. The like holds of their re- 
lations to the children whom they have undertaken to bring 
up. Any special responsibility thrown upon one parent 
lays an obligation of at least passive conformity upon the 
other. 

Criticism and Appreciation. — Perhaps this example will 
suffice to show how, as the shortcomings of any feature of 
the accepted moral code are brought to light, its real grounds 
are also disclosed ; and the demand for change, though it 
may at first be a mere outcry of rebellion, becomes directed 
by a more or less intelligent appreciation of the real relations 
involved. Our time offers many such examples, and, indeed, 
exhibits them in striking fashion to us, as contests arise 
over proposed amendments to the laws of the land. The 
divorce-problem, the limitation of property-rights, the 
treatment of criminals and prostitutes, all involve familiar 
moral issues. And I dare say that if we were to consider 
any one of these issues we should find that the radicals of 
to-day have a better appreciation of the real grounds upon 



394 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

which the older standards rested — I do not say, than the 
conservatives of to-day, but — than almost any one had 
before the radical agitation began. Even as Socrates, in 
the Apology, declares that he believes in the gods as none of 
his accusers do; so it often happens that the innovator in 
morals believes in the established code far more deeply 
than its dogmatic defenders. But, on the other hand, the 
defenders cannot remain dogmatic. They are shocked into 
reflection. 

Limits of Reflection. — In saying this, we must not forget 
what we lately insisted upon at such length : that after all 
possible rationalization of moral standards, their conven- 
tionality is merely pushed back, not abolished. Authority, 
we said, must accompany responsibility. Ought a younger 
child to obey an older one? Only if, and in so far as, the 
older child is responsible for the younger child's behavior. 
An enlightened doctrine, is it not ? But it takes for granted 
the conceptions of authority and responsibility; it takes for 
granted a whole social structure in which these conceptions 
operate. The enlightenment reaches only a little way be- 
neath the surface of things, and beneath it the shadows 
reign undisturbed. 

Increase of Plasticity. — Such as it is, however, the en- 
lightenment is the necessary condition of a reform of the 
conventional standards. It arises in and through conflict, 
and it brings about a new readjustment. The blind con- 
vention, so long as it remains blind, has no power to change 
itself. The state of enlightenment is the state of instability 
of convention. The more deeply rationalized a morality is, 
the greater is its plasticity. 

VI. The Rise of Discontent 

The Attitude of Dogmatism. — Has there ever been a 
time when evils incident to the subjection of women have 
not been evident? Probably not; just as there certainly 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 395 

never was a time, since boats were first used, that the swamp- 
ing of a boat has not been a perceptible misfortune. Why, 
then, were these evident evils so long unable to modify the 
conviction that women ought to be subject to their husbands ? 
For the same reason that thousands upon thousands of boats 
may be swamped without impressing men with the fact 
that the type of boat is radically faulty. The evils are 
regarded as misfortunes. One husband is a brute ; another 
is a fool ; another is an idler ; still another is a rogue. So 
much the worse for the poor women ! Perhaps they ought 
to have known better than to have married such men. 
Perhaps their youth and inexperience absolve them from 
blame, and they deserve only pity. But these men are now 
their husbands, and women ought to obey their husbands. 

We are all familiar with this way of thinking, because we 
all continue to follow it in the application of standards which 
we dogmatically accept. Perhaps, for example, we accept 
in this way the command, " Thou shalt not commit adul- 
tery." Then how do we judge the case of George Eliot? 
Lewes's wife was living ; and though she had been unfaith- 
ful to him, he was unable (because he had once forgiven her) 
to obtain a divorce. Why should he and this other gifted 
woman suffer for no fault of their own? Why should they 
not defy convention and make each other happy? We 
answer (let us say) that they have no right to such happiness. 
They were unfortunate, to be sure; and so are thousands 
of other men and women, who show their courage by patiently 
enduring their misfortunes without thinking of violating 
the moral law. 

Its Legitimacy. — So far as it goes, this way of thinking 
is perfectly sound. If a given moral standard is accepted 
as absolute, then any evils that are incidental to its rigid 
application are misfortunes ; and no misfortune, however 
great, however pitiful, can affect the eternal standard. It 
is sound thinking, and the moral conduct which it controls 



396 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

is indispensably precious to us. There are radicals to whom 
George Eliot is a glorious heroine. But even they can scarcely 
deny that the thousands of men and women who have buried 
their love and gone on grimly with their appointed life are 
not to be despised. 

Limits of Foreign Influence. — How, then, is the standard 
ever brought under suspicion? Sometimes by contrast 
with foreign standards that are radically different. But 
the suspicion thus engendered is likely to be at least as irra- 
tional as the dogmatism which it disturbs. The observa- 
tion, that standards differ, and that therefore none is really 
authoritative, simply leaves us with no standard at all. 
The common effect of the contact of two moralities — as in 
the oriental seaports of to-day — is the deterioration of both. 
This is not to deny that foreign influence may be important 
for good. It may be highly beneficial. But when it is so, 
it is because the internal conditions have become such as to 
make assimilation of the foreign ideals possible. Similar 
observations are made in the field of art. The English litera- 
ture of the Elizabethan age shows a strong Italian, and then 
a Spanish influence ; while the literature of the Restoration 
period is even more strongly marked by French influence. 
But why ? The real question is : What difference had come 
over England, that in the later period it found its inspira- 
tion in French, rather than in Spanish or Italian sources? 
Even so, when the revival of letters is attributed to the 
recovery of the Greek and Latin classics, we should ask: 
What change had come over men, that their hearts were 
now open to the beauty and power of the classics ? Petrarch, 
you say, ransacked the monasteries of Italy for their for- 
gotten literary treasures. But why were men like Petrarch 
and those who so eagerly greeted his discoveries produced 
at that time ? The truth is, the explanation of social move- 
ments, whether ethical, artistic, political, or religious, in 
terms simply of external influence is almost always shallow. 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 397 

What, it may be asked, of Japan's rapid appropriation of 
European civilization? But why Japan, rather than Korea 
or China ? The deeper reasons lie within. 

Inner Causes of Change. — So we are driven back upon 
our former question : If the misfortunes incident to the 
dogmatic acceptance of a moral standard are not sufficient 
to call it into serious question, how is this ever brought 
about? The answer lies in the fact that what have been 
regarded as incidental misfortunes may cease to be so re- 
garded. If, under altered social conditions, their frequency 
greatly increases ; and especially if, among the increased 
evils, there are some of a new and deep seriousness, depend- 
ing upon a sensitiveness to hitherto unfelt aspirations and 
a conception of hitherto unformulated standards of happi- 
ness, so that they become a matter of vital public concern ; 
then they present themselves as consequences of the moral 
standard itself, and hence as constituting a defect in it. The 
case is again like that of the dug-out. So long as swamping 
is rare, it may be, and is, set down to bad luck. But when 
the conditions of boating have so changed, that the possi- 
bility of the swamping of boats is felt as a real menace to 
the general welfare, the dogmatic faith in the type of boat 
is shaken. Something is the matter, though the boatman 
knows not what, and he is open to suggestions of improve- 
ment — if these be not too radical. So with the wife's duty 
of obedience. Many women may be made miserable, and 
the duty still hold. Anything, everything except the stand- 
ard itself is blamed. But let the frequency of these evils 
greatly increase, and — as the greater frequency probably 
indicates — let them be felt as an impediment upon newly 
developed ideals of life, so that they constitute a standing 
menace to happiness ; then the moral standard itself becomes 
chargeable with them, and society is ready for some change. 

Conservatism. — We do not mean by this that change 
comes quickly and easily. On the contrary, any amendment 



398 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

that may be suggested is bound to meet with resentful pro- 
test. Though the standard be felt to be imperfect, anything 
else is very likely worse. The evils which the standard 
entails are not infinite. After all, society has endured them 
thus far; so why not farther? But the suggested change 
invokes horrid images of all manner of ill-defined evils. If 
wives do not obey their husbands, what will society come to ? 
And the protest has generally a good deal of sound sense 
on its side. Reforms, in morals as elsewhere, almost never 
work out as their early advocates expect. It takes time and 
many failures to achieve success. Well is it, therefore, for 
society, that the old standards are not easily given up, that 
a storm of protest arises when they are assailed. 

The Two Parties. — Every phase of moral evolution thus 
brings about, and depends upon, a division of society into 
its conservative and radical elements. To the conservative, 
the radical is an essentially unsound man, who neglects 
obvious truths in favor of vain, deluding theories. To the 
radical, the conservative is one who is essentially stupid 
or blinded by selfish prejudice, so that he is unable to follow 
the guidance of reason. As between the two, the sympathy 
of the student is naturally on the side of the radical. There 
must be conservatives ; but, then, we may rest assured that 
there always will be ; so that it is the champions of reason 
for whom we feel a real need. But when we are inclined to 
charge a great part of our fellow-men with stupidity, it is 
well for us to remember the words of a certain wise Ameri- 
can : " Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the 
rest of us could not survive." 

VII. Duty and Benevolence in Evolution 

Modification of Duty by Benevolence. — As we remarked 
upon an earlier page, the standards of benevolence, as well 
as those of duty and virtue, are always in some degree con- 
ventional, both because the direction of benevolence is fixed 



1 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 399 

by duty, and because the goods conferred by the benevolent 
are themselves of necessity more or less conventional. But 
to say this is virtually to confess that benevolent conduct 
is conventional only in so far as its character is given to it by 
other than benevolent motives. And now, as we reflect 
upon the account which has just been given of the develop- 
ment of moral standards, we see that the development con- 
sists in a continual remolding of the standards of duty in 
conformity with the requirements of benevolence. 

Morality not Reducible to Benevolence. — It is in this 
sense that charity may be said to constitute the whole of 
the law. Viewed as an analytical matter of fact, this simply 
cannot pass muster. As the hard-headed Bishop Butler 
pointed out, it is evident in the case of some of the most 
monstrous acts of injustice, such as treason, that we cannot 
resolve our condemnation of them into regard for the welfare 
of any body of men. We hate and despise such acts with a 
naive spontaneity that does not wait for the weighing of 
consequences. And, as the worthy bishop further remarked, 
it is well for us that all our morality is not exhausted in be- 
nevolent impulses. We have not brains enough to play the 
part of Providence. At every turn of life we need external 
guidance, the guidance of a rule suited to the limitations of 
our capacities. If, in disregard of convention, we should 
attempt to shape our conduct by what we conceive to be 
the greatest good of men, we should be perpetually bringing 
about the most serious evils. Our vision is limited at its 
best, and it is seldom at its best. At one time we are blind 
to possibilities which at another time would absorb our 
whole attention. A pure benevolence, if it could exist, 
would doubtless look very much like madness. 

Benevolence the Shaping Power. — Analytically considered, 
the reduction of morality to benevolence is thus palpably 
unsound. But from the genetic standpoint it is plain and 
simple truth. Our deepest moral convictions have a his- 



400 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

tory ; and that history is what men's struggles for the com- 
mon welfare have made it. Benevolence, though not the 
whole of morality, is its essential raison d'etre. 

Benevolence not Earlier than Justice. — This is not to 
say that in the order of time benevolence came first and jus- 
tice afterwards. If only from the intimate relation in which 
they stand to-day, we know that this is not possible. Nat- 
ural affection is, no doubt, older than justice ; but so is 
natural aversion to the abnormal older than benevolence. 
Both benevolence and justice spring from sources that are 
older than humanity; and they have developed together, 
with constant interaction. As we noted in an earlier chapter, 
benevolence is directed, not simply toward individuals, but 
toward institutions and toward abstract causes; and even 
when it is directed toward individuals, these often owe 
their selection to the fact that they stand for institutions 
or causes. But the institution, though it must have its 
roots in human instincts, is not, as it stands, a ' natural ' 
phenomenon — not even of the family can that be truly 
said. It is an expression of sentiments of justice. And 
this is obviously true of the cause. Hence, rather than 
claim that benevolence, as such, is prior to justice, we should 
prefer the paradox, that justice is the raison d'etre of benevo- 
lence. For the ends of all benevolence are at least based 
upon justice ; and many of the noblest and most devoted 
benefactors of humanity would say that all that they were 
striving for was what simple justice required. 

Justice the Basis of Benevolence. — Moral reform, there- 
fore, is by no means so simple a matter as the reformer is 
apt to conceive it. The problem is not to make new laws 
for a new race in a new world. The reform can only pro- 
ceed upon the basis of justice as it is ; and if the foundation 
is disturbed at one point, we must lean the more heavily 
upon the remainder. We wish, let us say, to make men 
happy, as happy as possible. But, then, it is men who are 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 401 

to be made happy, not two-legged animals ; and what it 
is that can make them happy is determined, not simply by 
their instinctive traits, but by complex bodies of sentiments 
that have grown up during hundreds of centuries. And, 
furthermore, the very existence and perpetuation of those 
sentiments — the very possibility of man's being happy, 
except as the orang-outang may be happy — depends on the 
system of justice. If this seems like an over-statement, we 
have only to apply it to a few concrete instances to make it 
seem like a paltry truism. 

Conclusion. — The relation between benevolence and jus- 
tice is thus a type of the general relation between progress 
and conservatism. All that is conserved has been won 
by former progress ; and every movement that is made 
depends for its possibility upon the conservation of past 
results. 

But, paradoxes aside, why cannot we say (1) that the real 
purpose of all morality is the welfare of mankind, and (2) 
that benevolence is simply morality that has become con- 
scious of its purpose, directly intending that to which all 
morality tends? If by ' real purpose ' is meant ' function/ 
we have already committed ourselves to the first proposition 
(in the chapters on the significance of morality in society and 
in the individual) ; and we are ready to admit the truth 
of the second, provided it be understood as a matter of 
degree. No morality is entirely self-conscious. Nothing 
human is. But in proportion as morality becomes self- 
conscious, the more is its abstract, impersonal justice quali- 
fied by human charity. 

VIII. The Progkess of Benevolence 

Convention subordinated to Benevolence. — This leads 

us to repeat with emphasis what we have already noted in 

passing : that the evolution of morality is not merely a 

transition from one convention to another, mediated by 

2d 



402 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

sentiments of benevolence. It is marked by an increased 
self-consciousness, an increased subordination of mere con- 
vention to benevolence ; hence, also, by an increased plastic- 
ity of convention, and by a greater and greater rapidity of 
movement. 

The contrast between the old and the new is well brought out 
when we consider the inflexibility of military justice, which, 
for various reasons, has been retarded in its development, 
and set against it the action of Abraham Lincoln in pardoning 
man after man who had been guilty of sleeping at his post, 
or even of deserting in the presence of the enemy. Lin- 
coln, of course, was a civilian, and thus naturally far less 
subservient to the military tradition than his generals could 
be. And, on the other hand, the army with which he was 
dealing was — as he clearly saw — different from the armies 
in which the military tradition had grown up and persisted. 
It was made up of free, intelligent volunteers, who, even 
though the rules were broken, and broken repeatedly, would 
still appreciate their significance and respect them accord- 
ingly — men who were guided, not by laws alone, but by 
free ideals of human welfare. 

Why does not Benevolence become Superfluous? — It 
may be asked why this is so : why, as the conventions of 
justice are modified to accord with the demands of benevo- 
lence, conscious benevolence does not fall into abeyance. 
Indeed, have we not already admitted that this does happen ? 
How, then, is a progressive increase of benevolence possible ? 

An Analogous Question. — Let us match this question 
with another. Men think, when they have questions to 
solve. When a problem is fairly solved, a certain amount of 
thinking becomes superfluous. How is it, then, that as 
problem after problem is solved we find men thinking not 
less but more? Obviously, because there is no fixed fund 
of problems to be solved, which can gradually be exhausted 
till none are left for us to think about. Every advance of 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 403 

human knowledge opens up new fields of investigation, gives 
us more and more to think about. The most learned man 
has not fewer questions to ask than the most ignorant — quite 
the reverse. The great men in the history of science are 
signalized, not only by the discoveries they have made, 
but also, and perhaps more importantly, by the problems 
they have raised. 

Justice does replace Benevolence. — Similarly, there is 
no fixed sum of human goods to be achieved. If there were, 
one might with some cogency argue that as more and more 
was secured by the regulations of justice, less and less would 
be left to the direct action of benevolence. Thus, for ex- 
ample, in lands where a man has a right to marry several wives, 
he may, out of a pure regard for the happiness of the first 
wife, refrain from marrying a second. But with us any such 
benevolence has become superfluous. The wife can claim 
her exclusive relations with her husband as a right. Turn- 
ing toward the future, we note that one of the great promises 
of the socialists is that their scheme of society will eliminate 
not only the necessity but even the possibility of a vast 
amount of benevolence. Socialism, they declare, will give 
men as their right well-nigh all that private charity can now 
bestow. We, of course, do not care in this discussion whether 
the claim of the socialists is well founded or not. We are 
interested only in the nature of the claim as such. For this 
once more illustrates the truth, of which we wish to take 
account : that one essential aspect of the progress of 
humanity consists in the substitution of justice for benevo- 
lence. 

Infinite Possible Scope of Benevolence. — Why, then, 
is the scope of benevolence not restricted? Simply because 
there is no fixed maximum of good that benevolence can 
bestow. The more men possess, the more they can and do 
aspire unto ; and the more, therefore, the well-wishers of 
humanity can desire for them. The wife, we said, has now 



404 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

a claim upon the fidelity of the husband. But the actual 
scope for personal consideration on the husband's part has 
not been lessened. Isaac, according to the Bible story, loved 
his wife Rebecca, and took no other beside her. The modern 
man cannot show his love for his wife in just that way. But 
there are a thousand others in its place. The happiness 
of a wife means vastly more, it contains an almost infinitely 
more complex content than Rebecca dreamed of. And, 
no doubt, we can predict as much with reference to the so- 
cialist's ideal state : that if all he previsages should indeed 
come to pass, there would in consequence be not less room 
for kindness and devotion, but immeasurably more. 

IX. Relation of Virtue to Duty and Benevolence 

How the Evolution of Virtue is Determined. — It is not 

necessary for us to undertake a special study of the evolution 
of ideals of virtue. For since, as we have seen, these ideals 
are simply the standards of duty and of benevolence seen 
under a new aspect, — as a directly appreciable possession 
of the virtuous man, instead of as conformity to an external 
standard, or as the neglect of one's own good for another's, — 
it is clear that the evolution of virtue follows closely that 
of duty and benevolence. When a given type of conduct 
is regarded as obligatory or as benevolent, the type of 
character that can be counted upon to display such conduct 
is regarded as in so far virtuous ; and courage, temperance, 
and wisdom take their direction accordingly. 

Virtue as a Higher Stage of Morality. — In an earlier 
chapter we noted that, for the morality of virtue, conduct 
that is marked by a keen sense of obligation or of personal 
loss is of comparatively little significance. What this moral- 
ity emphasizes is a sure insight and an unhesitating decision. 
From this point of view, the morality of virtue may be re- 
garded as constituting a higher stage in individual or social 
evolution. Morality that is but half-won and not yet firmly 



THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS 405 

established appears as duty or as self-sacrifice ; but as a 
thoroughly secure possession it is virtue, the free self-expres- 
sion of the agent's character. 

Are Duty and Benevolence Superfluous? — During the 
latter part of the nineteenth century, the theory was fre- 
quently advanced, that obligation and self-denial are wholly 
unnecessary for morality, and, indeed, that they belong only 
to a low, or false, type of morality. A higher type would 
consist simply in self-assertion. Nietzsche and Guyau are 
the chief representatives of this way of thinking. The 
former regards the Christian morality about him as essen- 
tially a slave-morality, a conspiracy of the under dogs to 
mitigate their wretchedness and, if possible, hold in check 
the tyranny of their oppressors. This is well enough for 
them ; but for their masters, the aristocracy of art, science, 
and war, unscrupulous egoism is the only sane principle of 
life. 1 Guyau's theory is less sensational. The true end of 
life, he declares, is the limitless expansion of life itself ; and 
the only motive which it needs is its own inherent energy. 
The sense of compulsion, like the need of external rewards 
and punishments, is a mark of weakness. The strong will 
do what is good just because they are strong. 

According to our principles all such theories must be set 
down as fundamentally in error. The virtues owe their 
whole content to men's experience of duty and self-sacrifice. 
The abstract individual has no character to assert — nothing 
more than the impulses of " the ape and the tiger." The 
necessary consequence of Nietzsche's program or Guyau's 
would be, first, an arrest of development, and then disinte- 
gration. For if (as we have said) present virtue may be 
regarded as the higher product of past duty and benevo- 
lence, it is equally true that the duty and benevolence of 
to-day represent the beginnings of the higher virtue of 
to-morrow. 

1 Compare the sophistic theory outlined on pp. 110-111.' 



406 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

Moral Progress has no Visible Limits. — Fortunately 
we have no reason to suppose that moral progress is fated to 
bring itself to naught. As old duties lose their oppressive- 
ness, we acquire new ones, which may be no less oppressive 
than the old. As our selves expand so as to take in the ob- 
jects of our former sacrifices, so the sphere of our benevo- 
lence expands to take in more and more that was formerly 
indifferent to us. If there is any limit to the process, it lies 
beyond the present horizon of science. 



REFERENCES 

Green, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III, Chs. III-V. 

Stephen, L., Science of Ethics, especially Ch. II, Sect. IV; Ch. Ill, 
Sects. I, II; Ch. IV, Sects. I, II, V. 

Alexander, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book III. 

Wundt, W., Ethics, Part I, The Facts of the Moral Life. (An 
account of the non-moral conditions of moral development.) 

Taylor, A. E., Problem of Conduct, Ch. V. 

Hobhouse, L. T., Morals in Evolution, especially Part I, Ch. I, and 
Part II, Ch. VIII. 

Ross, E. A., Social Control, Part II, Chs. XXV, XXVI. 

Tufts, J., On Moral Evolution, in Studies in Philosophy and Psy- 
chology by Former Students of Charles Edward Gorman. 

Mezes, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. VIII. 

Seth, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part II, Ch. III. 

Mackenzie, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book III, Ch. VII. 

Muirhead, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book V. 



CONCLUSION 

Relation of the Foregoing Theory (l) to Hedonism. — It 

scarcely needs to be pointed out that the evolutionary theory 
of values in general and of moral values in particular, which 
has been set forth in the preceding chapters, is an energism. 
It has, to be sure, its bonds of sympathy with the rival 
classical theories of hedonism and rigorism. It is allied to 
hedonism, because, while it does not regard pleasure and 
pain as absolute value (positive and negative), it does re- 
gard them as the ultimately shaping influences to which the 
development of standards of value is due. It differs from 
hedonism in its insistence upon the complexity of the system 
of values — in its rejection of the assumption that such a 
system can be reduced to terms of more or less of a single 
pair of qualities. 

(2) To Rigorism. — On the other hand, evolutionary 
ethics finds itself foreshadowed, though only vaguely, in 
the stoic theory of the genetic relationship between moral 
values and the lower kinds of value, with their ultimate 
dependence upon the instincts of the human species ; more 
clearly in the stoic insistence upon the social nature of man, 
as affecting not only his lower, but also his very highest 
functions. But we find ourselves repelled to-day by the 
conception of the evolution as a finished process. We see 
no ' sages ' in the world. To us, the shallowest of all dis- 
tinctions is that between good men and bad. And that 
universal society of rational beings, in which the stoic thought 
to move, and by whose life he felt his own life to be continu- 
ally sustained — that society is, for us, in the making. 
Again, we feel that the stoic does virtue no true honor in 

407 



408 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

separating it, so soon as it exists, from the other values of 
human life, as if it alone made up all possible happiness. 
For his position quickly reduces to a mere verbalism. " The 
good man, though on the rack, is happy." Why? Because 
it is no fault of his that he is there ! This is simply playing 
with words. It is true that a good man may be happy 
though on the rack. For he has great resources. At any 
rate, he is far more likely to be happy there than a coward 
or a libertine. A good man might conceivably be happy 
even if his wife or child were on the rack — though there, 
it is to be confessed, a bad man would very likely have the 
advantage of him. But, indeed, from our point of view, 
the man that is always happy is as unreal and idle an abstrac- 
tion as the absolutely good man. If he could be found, we 
should not greatly admire him. Under the actual conditions 
of human life, to be always happy is to be less than a man. 

(3) To the Ancient Energism. — Our theory, then, is an 
energism. According to us, happiness is a value belonging 
to a condition of life as a whole. Our quarrel with the ancient 
energists rests upon the fact that we no longer conceive of 
life as the activity of a certain given set of faculties. We 
know too well that all the activities of civilized men are 
the content of an ever varying tradition ; that human nature, 
as heredity leaves it, is capable of all manner of different 
modes of development and of all manner of different modes 
of happiness. WTiat happiness is for any man depends 
upon the man; and the man is the child of his time and 
place. The ancient formulas, according to which one kind 
of activity — that of contemplation of eternal truths — 
is superior to all others, appears to us, not only as false, but 
as grotesque. We do not think in such terms. 
$■ (4) To the Modern Energism. — The modern energists, 
on the other hand, — Fichte and Hegel and their English- 
speaking followers, — are an inspiration and a challenge 
to us. They inspire us by reason of the conception of social 



CONCLUSION 409 

solidarity which they set before us. The idea of the function 
of morality as the basis of organized unity in both social 
and individual life is theirs. The idea of historical continu- 
ity is theirs. But these conceptions, as they present them, 
are to our mind an assemblage of problems rather than of 
solutions. These men saw far and saw profoundly. But 
we now feel it incumbent upon us to reinterpret their specu- 
lative vision in such terms as are afforded by a plain, work- 
aday empirical method. And in doing this we must, no 
doubt, reconstruct as well as interpret, if only because within 
the limits of our method much that to them seemed crystal- 
clear is left as tentative. We cannot pretend to explain 
the world by reference to a metaphysical reality underlying 
and determining it. For us, there is nothing truer than 
history. 

(5) To Utilitarianism. — As between the English classical 
schools our allegiance is even more divided. We know noth- 
ing of moral axioms, or of an innate moral sense, or of a 
hedonistic calculus. But, to speak first of utilitarianism, 
we sympathize with it as a genuine and courageous attempt 
to explain the development of the moral individual. Espe- 
cially in the form which it owes to John Stuart Mill, it strikes 
us as being the direct forerunner of the scientific ethics of 
to-day. To the last, however, utilitarianism remains indi- 
vidualistic and mechanical, a characteristically eighteenth- 
century product. The association, shuffling, and dropping- 
out of conscious elements remain its whole machinery of 
explanation. Social psychology is almost unattempted. 
The nature of the sentiments and the manner of their commu- 
nication is most superficially studied. The conception of 
historical continuity is practically unknown. These things 
we owe to other sources. 

(6) To Intuitionalism and Sentimentalism. — As between 
the rival nativistic schools, the intuitionalists and the sen- 
timentalists, we have to thank each for upholding an impor- 



410 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 

tant fraction of the truth. The sentimentalists have to their 
credit a worthy service, in insisting upon the affective basis 
of valuation. The accusation of their enemies, that they 
humanized morality, does not now seem to us a damaging 
one. On the other hand, the rationalists are abundantly 
justified in maintaining that to judge an action to be right 
or wrong is not simply to feel a peculiar emotional thrill. 
The rationality of moral judgment is not a superficial after- 
development. It belongs to its essential nature. There is 
no valuation, much less moral valuation, without stable 
concepts. 

Is Morality Immutable or in Evolution? — There remains, 
of course, the fact that for the ethicists of the eighteenth 
century morality is i eternal and immutable/ while for us 
it is in process of evolution. The difference, however, is 
far less from our point of view than from theirs. From their 
point of view we have simply given ourselves up to anarchy. 
But, as we see the matter, their position is a fair ' first approxi- 
mation ' to the truth. It is, at any rate, far nearer the truth 
than the skeptical position, that morality is whatever con- 
vention makes it. 

The Preevolutipnary Standpoint. — The contrast be- 
tween the ethics of to-day and that of the eighteenth century 
is, in fact, typical of the relations between our science and 
theirs. Men had not yet learned to think in evolutionistic 
terms. And so long as they were limited to a choice between 
eternity and immutability on the one hand, and capricious 
change on the other, they were generally right in choosing 
the former alternative. When, for example, it was sug- 
gested that once upon a time man went on all fours, the 
sober science of 1750 could not do otherwise than reject the 
theory as ridiculous. The manner in which the head is 
joined to the body; the disproportionate length of the legs 
as compared with the arms ; the structure of the feet and 
ankles; these and a host of other considerations made it 



CONCLUSION 411 

reasonably certain that man had always been a biped. 
Shall we nevertheless say that this was a mistake? If we 
do, our judgment is a shallow one. It is true that in the 
dim geological past our ancestors were quadrupeds; and 
this the eighteenth century did not know. But the modi- 
fication that has taken place has been no superficial change 
of habit, but a continuous and profound evolution of the 
human organism. 

The Classical Theory Right in the Main. — Quite similar 
must be our attitude toward the classic theory of the im- 
mutability of moral standards. When readers of ancient 
and modern literature declared that the standards of morality 
varied without limit and without reason from age to age, 
it was proper enough for the ethicist to reply : " The original 
principles of praise and blame are uniform." From our 
present standpoint we can, indeed, see that this will not 
strictly hold : that if the original principles of morals appear 
to be uniform, it is partly because the terms in which they 
are stated are themselves shifting in their significance. But, 
for all that, the position was right in the main — as nearly 
right as was possible with the conceptions of society and of 
history that were then current. 

Identity in Change. — A real evolution is more than 
change. It involves an identity persistent through change. 
We began this study by quoting some passages illustrative 
of different types of morality, the first two of which have 
come down to us from proto-historic times. Let us glance 
back at them in closing, and feel once more how, after the lapse 
of centuries, we are still of the same fiber as the patriarchs : 
" How shall I go up to my father, if the lad be not with me ? " 
— "I have opened my mouth unto Jehovah, and I cannot 
go back." 



INDEX 



Absolute values, 206 f., 272 ff., 347 

If. 
Animals, judgments on, 27 f. 
Anniceris, 125 n. 
Antisthenes, 123, 133, 158 ff. 
Aristippus, 123, 124 ff., 128 n., 133. 
Aristotle, 4 n., 8, 14, 15, 29, 43, 61, 

102 n., 113, 132 f., 144 ff., 265, 

266. 

Bacon, 13, 390. 

Beauty, relation to goodness, 8 f., 

114, 143, 208 ff., 222 f. 
Benevolence, 80 ff., 398 ff. 

contains all morality (?), 193, 
218 f., 399. 

conventionality in, 388 f . 

grades of, 82. 

relation to duty, 81, 83, 398 ff. 

universalized, 85 ff. 
Bentham, 200. 
Butler, 200, 218 f., 275, 399. 

Cambridge Platonists, 177, 189 f. 

Character, 24 ff., 298 ff. 

Clarke, 200. 

Common good, 115, 171, 194, 264 f., 

291 f. 
Conservatism and radicalism, 397 f. 
Conventionality, 72 f., 110, 384, 385, 

387, 388 ff. 
Courage, 89 ff. 
Cudworth, 189 f. 
Cumberland, 190 ff. 
Custom, 69 ff. 
Cynics, 16, 158 ff. 

Darwin, 27, 360, 363, 369. 
Darwinism, 363 ff. 
in ethics, 367 ff. 
Deliberation, 29, 31 f. 
Deodand, law of, 28. 
Descartes, 62. 
Desire, theories of, 113, 179, 225, 

249, 252 ff., 298 ff. 
Determinism, 58 ff. 



Diogenes, 159, 161 f. 

Divine laws, 78 f., 176, 191 f., 204, 

227 f. 
Duty, 67 ff., 81 f., 398 ff., 404 ff. 

Effort, 96 f. 

Elite, function of the, 340 ff. 
Empiricism, 13, 14 f., 199 n., 207 f. 
Energism, 102, 104, 131 ff., 237 f., 

408 f. 
Epicurus, 126 ff., 255. 
Ethics, definition of, 3 f. 

methods of, 13 ff. 

problems of, 101 ff. 

relations of, 8 ff. 
Euclid, 123, 161. 
Eudoxus, 126. 
Evolution, 360 ff. 

of moral standards, 379 ff . 

Fatalism, 56 f. 
Fichte, 242 f., 408. 

Gay, 200, 226. 
Genetic method, 16 ff. 
Grotius, 176. 
Guyau, 405. 

Habitual preferences, 300 ff. 
Habituation, 119, 150, 300 f. 
Happiness, 3, 9 f., 102, 147 ff., 317 f. 
Harmony, morality as, 135, 150, 

165, 218, 302 ff., 308 f. 
Hedonism, 102, 123 ff., 142 ff., 147 f., 

232, 245 f., 247 ff., 407. 
Hedonistic calculus, 126, 266 ff., 276. 
Hedonistic paradox, 255 f., 271 n. 
Hegel, 243 ff., 408. 
Hegesias, 127 n. 
Hippias, 106 n., 108. 
Historical continuity, 344 ff., 350 ff., 

410 f. 
Hobbes, 62, 177 ff. 
Hume, 200, 211, 219, 221 f., 223 n., 

237. 
Hutcheson, 200, 218. 



413 



414 



INDEX 



Imitation of ideal, 97 f. 
Indeterminism, 51 ff., 56 ff . 
Individual, utility of morality to, 

116 f., 125 f., 127, 143, 215 f., 

275 f., 296 ff., 318 ff. 
Individual differences, 35, 46 f., 

212 ff., 333, 354 ff. 
Intention, 32, 40 f., 231. 

to do right, 42 ff. 
Intuitionalism, 16, 103, 200 ff ., 207 ff ., 

222 f., 232 f., 409 f. 



151, 186, 219, 



Justice, 88, 115 f., 
283 f., 400 f. 

Kant, 30, 55, 238 ff . 



Law, authority of, 77 ff . 

of nature, 78, 173 f., 175, 181 £., 
185 ff., 191 f. 
Locke, 193 f., 198, 200. 

MiU, J. S., 235, 237 f., 409. 
Moral act, analysis of, 31 ff . 
Moral agent, 26 ff. 
Moral feelings, 23 f., 109, 203 f., 211, 

217, 220 f., 228 f., 235, 239. 
Moral habits, 302 ff. 
Moral judgments, subjects of, 23 ff. 

indirect, 29, 37, 48 f. 
Moral sense, 151, 155, 209 ff., 224, 

232. 
Moral standards, 66 ff . 

evolution of, 379 ff. 
Motive, 32, 39 ff . 

Nature vs. convention, 108 f., 161 f. 
Nietzsche, 405. 

Obligation, 204, 205, 215 ff., 226 ff., 

235, 307 f., 313 f. 
Original selfishness, theory of, 129, 

250 f., 259 ff. 

Paley, 200. 

Personal authority, 73 ff. 

Plato, 14, 15, 27, 61, 92, 102, 123, 
126, 132 ff., 149 n., 152, 154 ff., 
165, 216 n M 219 n., 265, 266. 

Pleasure ; see Hedonism. 

kinds of, 143 f., 145, 237 f., 265 f. 



Price, 200. 

Pride and shame, 324 f., 329 f., 

373. 
Prodicus, 106 n., 107. 
Protagoras, 106 n., 107 n., 109 f. f 

112 n., 124 n., 133. 
Punishment, 39, 54, 374 n. 

Rationalism, 13, 16, 155, 200 ff. 
Responsibility, 50 ff. 
Retributive emotions, 373 f. 
Rigorism, 102, 104, 158 ff ., 407 f. 

Sanctions, 68, 226 f., 236. 
Selfish theory, 129, 249 f., 252 ff. 
Self-realization ; see Energism. 
Sentimentalism, 103, 199 f., 207 ff., 

409 f. 
Sentiments, 304 ff. 

education of, 330 ff . 
Shaftesbury, 198, 218. 
Skepticism, 73, 110 f., 156. 
Smith, Adam, 219 ff., 327 n. 
Social intercourse, 286 ff., 292 ff. 
Social nature of man, 133, 171, 195. 
Society, utility of morality to, 109, 

281 ff. 
Socrates, 13, 14 f., 112 ff., 133, 134, 

135, 136. 
Sophists, 105 ff. 
State of nature, 174, 182 ff. 
Stephen, 94. 
Stoicism, 16, 61, 163 ff. 
Sympathy, 219 ff., 291, 324, 325 ff., 

373. 

Temperance, 91 ff. 

Theodorus, 125 n. 

Thrasymachus, 106 n. 

Time, test of, 343 ff. 

Tradition, 109 f., 277, 370, 376 ff. 

Unforeseen consequences, 33 ff. 
Utilitarianism, 103 f., 223 ff., 232 f., 
235 ff., 409. 

Values, theory of, 9 f., 114, 135, 143, 
147, 164 f., 179 ff., 192, 261 ff., 
311 ff., 335 ff., 382 ff. 

Virtue, 88 ff., 115, 135 ff., 149 ff., 
165, 389, 404 ff . 



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